Carry On Jackson
by GinnyNoTonic
Summary: A bit of an antidote to all the speculation around the Assisted Suicide storyline. Still read Chapter 1 as a complete one shot; Chapter 2, 3 & 4 are just padding.  Thanks to everyone who has read & reviewed, much appreciated. G.x
1. Chapter 1

CARRY ON JACKSON

"Aaron! AARON!" Jackson yelled into his phone, his frustration almost unbearable. "Have you seen the postie yet?"

"No, not yet." Aaron's voice said from the Bluetooth headset tucked into his ear.

"Are you watching out for him?" Jackson questioned urgently.

"Yes Jackson! I'm watching out for him. Cain's watching out for him, Debbie's watching out for him," Aaron answered him. "We're all watching out for him. Where are you anyway?"

"In the sun porch."

Standing at the door into the garage, Aaron heard Jackson's tone turn suddenly sheepish as he answered him. Walking along the short lane by the gable end of Dale Head towards the main street, in thirty seconds, less, half that time, he could see Jackson in the new sun porch, built less than a year ago; Jackson's eyrie, his viewpoint on the village.

Still keeping the phone to his ear, Aaron waved. He saw Jackson's head move, saw his wheelchair swing from side to side, saw the smile on Jackson's face.

"As soon as he's spotted, I'll be home like a shot," promised Aaron. "I'll be there before the letter hits the carpet."

"Okay, sorry," replied Jackson.

"No worries, but just chill," said Aaron, "it'll be fine. Honestly. Look, gotta go, but I'm keeping a look out."

"Bye then." Jackson heard the click as Aaron hung up, leaning his head to one side; he pushed the buddy button against the headrest of his chair with his chin, ending the call.

Aaron had gone from his sight; crossly he thumped his head hard against the movement control, burling the chair wildly round. The waiting was driving him crazy; this was when he wished he could get up and knock a wall down. He could hear Hazel crashing around in the kitchen; he knew she was just as uptight as he was and was taking it out on the innocent pots and pans.

He saw the orange day-glo jacket of the postie at the same time as he saw Aaron racing up the lane from the garage, stopping the postie in his tracks, receiving the letter from his hand. Seconds later, the front door slammed.

Even before he had got through to the sun porch, Jackson was yelling at him.

"Open it! OPEN IT!"

Aaron skidded to a halt in front of him. "You sure? I'll hold it if you want to rip it."

"Just do it!" exclaimed Jackson.

Needing no further encouragement, Aaron tore open the envelope, pulled the single sheet of paper from it, read for a second, read for eternity.

"YEAY!" yelling with delight, Aaron launched himself at Jackson, leaping, his knees landing on the armrests, his hands cupping Jackson's face, his lips planted excited kisses on Jackson's forehead, his face, reaching his lips.

"You passed then?" said Hazel cheerfully, appearing at the door.

"Of course he passed!" exclaimed Aaron, twisting his body so that for a few brief seconds, he was balanced on Jackson's lap, his hands on his shoulders, steadying himself. "Whoever doubted it?"

"I did!" protested Jackson.

"Well you were the only one," said Hazel. "A little celebration I think." Turning, she left the room.

"Here," said Aaron easing himself from Jackson's lap, picking up the letter. "Have a read; I'm gonna wash my hands before I cover you with any more oil." He wiped at a dark smudge on Jackson's face, smiling down at him.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've covered me with oil," Jackson smirked.

"And it won't be the last; although old engine oil doesn't have quite the same appeal."

"Engine oil is your default smell," stated Jackson.

"Won't be a sec," said Aaron, disappearing out of sight.

Jackson looked at the letter lying on his lap, he couldn't help but smile; and he knew he was smiling on the inside too, he could feel that. Reading the words, reading his life; it could all have been so different, it very nearly was different. He could have been dead four years ago; a cold shudder swept through his mind, his body, well! what he could feel of his body, at the thought of what he had been so close to doing, of begging Aaron, Hazel, to do.

And then a miracle had happened; a miracle had come to him; a tenacious dragon had come to him; a guardian angel who had changed his life, given him his life back. Mary.

...

The knock at the door was loud and demanding; Aaron began to move to answer it but Hazel beat him to it; Jackson didn't even look up, staring, unseeing at his lap.

"Mary Coggins," the voice at the door said. "Occupational Therapist. Here to see Jackson Walsh." She strode into the room, not waiting to be invited. A tall, broad woman, perhaps not quite ages with Hazel, a year or five younger, her short, dark hair was gently gelled and tweaked into stylish peaks; gold rimmed specs were perched halfway down her nose.

She moved quickly towards Jackson, ignoring Hazel, ignoring Aaron; she bent her knees, crouched, bringing her to Jackson's eye level. Reaching out, she clasped Jackson's unresponsive hand between her two hands, shook it gently.

"We'll have a little chat; I'll see what you can do, and what we can do to help you. Alright?"

Even before Jackson could say anything – if he had been going to say anything, Aaron interrupted.

"What d'you mean? What he can do? Haven't they told you, he's tetraplegic, he can't do anything!" Aaron cried, his voice cracking with emotion, with bitterness.

"And you are?" asked Mary, an edge of ice to her voice.

"I'm Aaron, his boyfriend," defensive, aggressive, Aaron bristled with anger as he spoke, disliking the woman already.

"If I were you," Mary said in a conspiratorial whisper to Jackson, dropping to his level again, "I'd get rid of him and get a more positive model."

A ghost of a smile touched Jackson's lips. "He's okay really," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "once you get to know him."

"Ah well, if you're keeping him..." she winked quickly at Jackson before rising, "he'll need to buck his ideas up." She looked pointedly at Aaron, "I can't stand negative folk about me at my work."

Scowling, Aaron said nothing.

"Now! Mrs Walsh!" began Mary.

"Rhodes," interrupted Hazel. "Ms. Hazel. Call me Hazel."

Right Hazel! Seeing as this looks like Hotton General, is there a tea bar anywhere? I could murder a cup of coffee."

"I'll make you a cup," said Hazel, unsure how to take the woman in front of her. Looking back over her shoulder as she moved away, reluctant to leave, dreading what she might say to Jackson, that she might upset him, push him over the edge; further over the edge.

The conversation of the previous evening; the row, the shouting, the tears, the anguished begging of the previous evening were still raw, rattling round in her head, even as she knew they would be tormenting Aaron. Even as they had had to listen to Jackson desperate for them to help him end his life; to insist that he couldn't live, exist, like this, that he just wanted it over, for himself, for them. She couldn't do it, she wouldn't do it. Ever. But why did this woman have to barge her way in now, today, when everyone's nerves were frayed, jangling? Cursing the slowness of the kettle under her breath, she prepared the coffee for everyone; coffee! They lived on coffee.

"So Jackson, your accident was in the first week of October and you got home on Christmas Day," Mary glanced at her notes, refreshing her memory as she spoke. "Tell me, what do you do with your days?"

"Do! You keep on about do!" exclaimed Aaron, jumping to his feet, pacing the floor. "He can't DO anything!"

Mary said nothing, only peered over the top of her specs, only waited for Aaron to sit again, biting his tongue, struggling to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Now I understand from your notes that you have no residual brain damage from your head injury, so we must assume your brain's working, and I know you can speak, so why don't you tell me. And you," she looked at Aaron, "just hold on for a minute, eh?"

"Watch telly," said Jackson quietly, without meeting her eye.

Mary waited, her eyes flicking over Jackson's wheelchair, looking.

"What else?" she said when it became obvious he was going to say no more. "Do you listen to music? Where's your computer?"

"Mum's computer's upstairs," he replied.

"No Jackson, I mean your computer, adapted for you?"

"What computer?" Aaron burst out. "What do you mean, adapted?"

"Jackson," began Mary slowly; suddenly, dreadfully, everything was beginning to add up, the light beginning to dawn, the horror beginning to wash over her. "Jackson, have you had a full OT assessment?"

"There was a bloke, an old chap, wasn't there Aaron?" he turned to Aaron for confirmation, wanting him to take over the conversation.

"Yeah," agreed Aaron. "He came about the wheelchair, to assess you for it."

Mary shook her head, dismayed beyond words.

"Jackson, I am so sorry. Something has gone very wrong, I don't know how it happened, and I can't apologise enough. Somehow you must have slipped through the system; you've got your chair, yes, but that chair should be bursting with attachments, with gizmos to help you by now. Heads will roll for this, believe me, but meantime, we must get as much as we can as quickly as we can. Then we'll go on to tackle the big stuff. You okay with that?"

For the first time since Mary had entered Dale Head, Jackson raised his eyes to meet hers; he couldn't allow himself to think, to hope. But for now he couldn't fight her too; he hadn't the strength for that.

Returning with the coffee, Hazel listened, unusually quietly, while Mary explained the situation to her. Then, firing questions at them all, Mary began making copious notes.

Watching as Aaron carefully held Jackson's coffee as Jackson drunk, she told them that it was the easiest thing to get an arm with a holder that could be attached to the chair, so Jackson could take his drink when he wanted.

"Now Jackson," she continued, "are you a push kind of a guy, or would you prefer to suck and puff?"

Behind her, Aaron choked on his coffee.

"I hope that's not you being smutty young man," she said, turning to face Aaron in time to see the rosy blush colouring his cheeks. "I don't know what you are thinking about, but I'm talking about mobile phones and the ultimate hands free; Bluetooth with either a buddy button to press to activate, answer and end calls, or with a mouth attachment, sucking or puffing. Personally I think the buddy buttons are better, but they both come with voice recognition dialling."

"Wait a minute," said Aaron. "Are you saying he can use a mobile phone?"

"If he can hit the buddy button with his chin and shout your name at it, then yes he can," confirmed Mary. "And we'll get you a computer; again, a lot of voice recognition software is available, the technician will advise you further when he sets it up for you, but I think the mouse you use with your mouth is more accurate in this case."

"Now," she continued relentlessly. "What other rooms are there in the house? What's upstairs? When did you last go upstairs Jackson?"

Jackson huffed quietly, wryly; it was another lifetime ago.

"When I was renovating it for Declan, the owner, last year."

"Renovating it?" questioned Mary.

"I was a builder," the sadness that flooded through Jackson's quiet words as he answered reached all of them gathered in the room as he spoke.

"Ah," said Mary, as though it explained everything, as she kept scribbling her notes. "We'll come back to that, but another day I think. So you've not been upstairs since...you never thought of carrying him up...strong lad like you." She nodded at Aaron.

"No...never...I.." Aaron bumbled, mumbled, confused and unsure.

"I couldn't possibly advocate doing it, of course," she continued, "but I'm surprised you've never thought of it. Better with a stair lift, of course, and a small chair and hoist upstairs."

"Right! Wait a minute here!" Hazel interrupted. She had been quiet, listening but she couldn't bear it any longer. "This all sounds very good, but you're talking thousands here; we can't afford that. The phone and computer maybe, but stair lifts, more hoists, chairs...I can't afford that." She fought the tears back, the catch in her voice, as she finished speaking.

"Oh Hazel, no!" exclaimed Mary. "You don't pay for this, any of this, all you do is sign the forms, I'll do the rest. Actually," she continued, turning to look at Jackson, "you can practice a signature, a mark, that we can get legally recognised as your signature, then you can sign for yourself. I'll give you some mouth guides to try."

Hazel said nothing, just shook her head, bemused; it was too much to take in. Reaching into her pocket searching, not finding the tissue she needed; mumbling she excused herself.

Watching her go, Mary was glad not to have to find an excuse to speak to the two lads alone; lads, they were just lads; two scared and hurting lads, betrayed by fate, betrayed by the system. Well she couldn't change fate, but she could fight it, she could fight the system too.

"So Aaron," she began, "where do you sleep?"

"At Smithy," he said it as though it explained everything, but seeing her confusion, he continued, "just at the top of the main street there."

"No, I mean when you are here; that bed is a bit small for both of you; isn't it?"

"We don't...I mean...I've fallen asleep in the chair a couple of times. Aaron said awkwardly.

Shaking her head again, Mary added more notes to those already made. "I think we should keep your bedroom downstairs for the moment, but we can do better with the bed."

"You mean..." began Aaron incredulously

"Well you tell me you're his boyfriend," she answered, "although I admit I am making the assumption that you slept with him before and you want to sleep with him again." For the first time, she saw Jackson smile, really smile, saw, for a second, his face transformed. In her mind, to herself, she vowed it wouldn't be the last time, but the first of many.

"Well, I think that is enough to start with, don't you?"

"You mean there's more you can do?" asked Aaron, disbelievingly.

"Oh boys," laughed Mary. "I've barely started yet! Aaron, will you come out to the car with me while I rummage for these mouth guides, then you can make sure he starts practicing. I expect him to be able to write a 'J' for me by the time I call again."

After saying her goodbyes, she followed Aaron to her car. Opening the boot, she began hunting through bag, boxes.

"You're not going to hurt him, you know, sharing his bed. Things are never going to be the same as before his accident, and you both have to accept that, but that little bit of normality that closeness, the cuddling, will do as much for his mood, his morale, as all the gadgets and gizmos I can give him." Piling a selection of small plastic bags into his hands, she smiled at him. "Everything is in his head now; everything he feels has to be through the thoughts in his head, and you can put some good ones in there, Aaron, remember that. And you take care too, we're are just at the very start of this regeneration; prepare to be amazed; I'm Jackson's Fairy Godmother. And yours too maybe?"

Watching her drive away, Aaron felt as if the last hour – he glanced at his watch – the last three hours – had been a dream, surely he was due to wake up at any minute and find nothing had changed. But looking at his hands, they were still clutching the small plastic bagged objects; that must mean he wasn't dreaming, mustn't it.

...

The evening had been awkward; the ghost of Mary Coggins haunted them, yet they hardly spoke of her, none of them wanting the fracture the glimmer of hope, of change, that she had spread over them. Eventually Hazel had taken herself off to the Woolie, desperate for a few moments escape from the tension in Dale Head; even for the length of time it took to drink a double G & T.

A DVD chattered mindlessly into the room, Aaron didn't bother even trying to follow the story, his mind was elsewhere, his mind was about five feet to the right of the chair he was sitting in, his mind was in Jackson's bed as he wondered if it was really possible.

"Can I stay then?" he asked eventually, his voice barely above a whisper, his face averted from Jackson's. "In your bed?"

"Of course."

Even before he turned to look at him, Aaron could hear the smile in his voice; when their eyes met, he saw more light in Jackson's eyes, more life, than he had seen in months.

He turned the overhead light off before he climbed into the bed, leaving only the subdued light from a small side lamp giving a warm glow to the room. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the anxiety building as he slid under the covers, lying rigid beside Jackson. He had taken off his trackkies, his hoodie, kept only his tee shirt and boxers on; he could feel Jackson motionless beside him, could hear his breathing, loud in the quiet of the house.

"I'm not gonna break, Aaron." Jackson's quiet words into the darkness seemed to echo between them. "Kiss me."

Aaron raised himself on one elbow, cupping Jackson's face in his other hand, letting their lips gently meet.

"Properly," whispered Jackson, finding his lips again, letting his tongue flick into Aaron's mouth, letting Aaron's tongue into his own mouth, exploring, twisting together; dancing again.

"Aaron," began Jackson, a few minutes later. "Can you turn me round a little? No don't bother with the slide sheet thing that Joe uses," he added quickly as Aaron moved to get out of the bed. "Just pull my bum round, then my shoulders; then you can cuddle in behind me."

Reaching over Jackson, Aaron pulled at the safety side, rattling it, checking it; then sliding his hands, his arms underneath Jackson, gently grasping, gently pulling, easing him round, then moving, following round with his shoulders. Running his hands over him, quickly, confidently now, checking the position of his arms, his legs; how many times had he done this in the last few months? But never from the bed, cuddled beside him.

Satisfied that his body was safe, was comfortable, Aaron snuggled in behind him, letting his arm lie across his stomach, cradling him. Gently, he began to nuzzle at Jackson's neck, knowing he was above the level of his paralysis, knowing that he could feel him.

"I'm lying so close to you," he murmured. "Our bodies are touching, all the way from our toes to my lips, kissing you. It's like you are sitting on my lap and I've got my arm around your waist, holding you close, keeping you safe."

"I feel safe," Jackson answered, his voice as quite in the dimness as Aaron's had been. "Will you keep talking?"

"I'll talk all night long if you want me to," smiled Aaron. "It just feels so good to have you properly in my arms again."

"It feels good to be here," said Jackson, "and it is like I can feel you, I can't, but my mind is feeling you; I know you're holding me, so it's like my mind's feeling you on the inside. That's not making any sense, is it?"

"Not really," said Aaron, "but then, when do you ever make sense!"

"Git!"

"Div!"

Aaron smiled, his head tucked into the curve between Jackson's shoulder and neck, he kissed the soft skin, feeling the cropped curls of his hair tickling him a little. It had been a long time since Jackson had teased him, had done more than say the minimum number of words to ask for what he wanted. Even as he lay there, he felt a chill flood through him; last night, he couldn't even let himself think back to the words Jackson had spoken - yelled - then. At the ending he wanted, the end of everything. Pushing the anguished memories as far away as he could, he began speaking again, murmuring gently, tender, nothing words; words of love, of comfort, of hope. In a very few minutes, he heard Jackson's breathing change, steadying, deepening, as he sank into sleep. At last, Aaron lay quietly, quietly delighting in the moment, until he too drifted into sleep.

...

Nothing happened for most of the next day, but there was a tension in the air, a sense of waiting, anticipation. Nobody said anything, nobody wanted to be the one to jinx it – whatever 'it' might turn out to be. It was evening when the telephone rang; answering it Jackson and Aaron heard Hazel say little more than bemused affirmatives, waiting impatiently until she came into the room, shaking her head in wonderment.

"She said someone has to be in tomorrow as things will be start being delivered," she began. "No! I don't believe it! Not that quickly! I'm sorry Jackson, I shouldn't have said anything, she shouldn't get your hopes up." Her voice took on an edge of anger, of hurt.

"It's fine mum," soothed Jackson, "let's just wait and see."

Waiting and seeing was hard; waiting and seeing took the rest of the evening, a whole night, but another night secure against Aaron's comforting body. Waiting and seeing took half of the next morning.

It was only a car, a small car that drew up outside Dale Head shortly before lunchtime. Looking out of the window, Hazel felt a plunge of disappointment, dragging her down, deflating the tiny spark of hope she now knew was false; she should have trusted her instincts, it had all been too good to be true.

Disheartened she opened the door.

"Hazel Rhodes?" the smart woman on the step in front of her asked.

"She nodded. "Yes, that's me."

"And Jackson Walsh? I'm Cathy Clermont, from Clermont Stair Lifts, here to do a lift assessment."

Bemused, astounded, Hazel looked at her. "Already...how? I don't understand?"

"Let me say two words to you, Ms Rhodes. Mary. Coggins. Have you ever tried saying no to that woman?"

Hazel shook her head, saying nothing, but standing back, letting the other woman by her into the house.

"Let me guess, it's not that long since you met Mary?"

"Two days ago," said Hazel. "The day before yesterday."

"Well believe me," Cathy Clermont laughed, "you will soon find it makes life a whole lot easier to do anything Mary asks, as soon as she asks. The woman is formidable. However, she is the very best person to have on your side too. If she says it will happen, it happens. Hi! You must be Jackson." Coming fully into the room, she knelt in front of Jackson's chair, as Mary had done, gently touching his hand.

"I'll do the stairs first, then we'll have a look at you Jackson." She began opening her briefcase.

"Me?" questioned Jackson, puzzled.

"We need to see which chair would suit you best; we have a number of designs which we can modify to suit you."

"Do you want a coffee? Tea?" asked Hazel.

"Coffee would be good. If you just show me the stairs, it really doesn't take very long these days with the computer."

Hazel directed her to the stairs, then retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment. Hardly had she filled the kettle when the doorbell rang again.

Slightly dishevelled, in his shirt sleeves, a youngish man greeted her. "John MacDonald, Yorkshire Motorbility, to see Jackson Walsh."

"But how...I don't understand...come in anyway." Hazel pointed towards Jackson.

"Hi John," called Cathy Clermont from halfway up the stairs. "They only met Mary two days ago." She laughed.

"Ah!" exclaimed John in a tone of immediate understanding. "Right, I'd better explain then. Jackson, with your level of paralysis, we can't do any adaptations to let you drive the car yourself; I need to tell you that straight out."

"Wait a minute," said Jackson, stopping the flow of John's talk, needing to make sure he was understanding him right. "Are you telling me I'm getting a car? She didn't say. Nobody said"

"That's exactly what I'm saying; Mary phoned me yesterday. Yorkshire Motorbility will provide you with a car – actually it will be more like a pope-mobile – so you will need someone to drive you. But it will have a motorised ramp at the back and you chair can be secured in. I'm afraid, at the moment, that's the best we can do for you. And it will probably be two months or so until we can deliver it."

"Mum! Mum!" said Jackson urgently. "Get Aaron for me, I need him to hear this. Just phone him."

"But I still don't understand," said Hazel as she searched fruitlessly for her phone. "How is this happening? I've never heard of Yorkshire Motorbility."

"Very few people have," replied John, smiling wryly. "We're a charity, we struggle, but we always manage to do something, even if it's not a top of the range Ferrari."

"Mum! Aaron!" repeated Jackson, agitation, frustration, beginning to show in his face.

"I'm as quick opening the door and shouting him," said Hazel, flustered.

"Do it! Do it!"

In minutes Aaron was beside him, briefly touching his face with his fingers in greeting, meeting Cathy Clermont and John MacDonald, learning about stair lifts and pope-mobiles; grinning delightedly, unexpectedly at Jackson.

"Right, I could just do with seeing you in your hoist Jackson," said Cathy. "And I need the serial number of your chair, then I can get all the specs from the manufacturers."

In a whirlwind equal to their arrival, soon both John and Cathy had left, promising to be in touch the moment they had any news; but there was no peace, not that day. Hardly had they caught their breaths, reviving coffee not finished, when glancing out of the window, Aaron saw a large van pulling up outside.

Without waiting for the knock at the door, he opened it wide.

"For Jackson Walsh," the driver called.

"Inside mate," replied Aaron.

The room really wasn't big enough for all the boxes, but that afternoon, nobody cared. Hazel and Aaron didn't care if they had to climb over them for a week; still bemused by the speed of change, Jackson felt as though it was Christmas, every perfect Christmas of his childhood with the joy of anticipation.

"You signing yet, mate?" the driver asked Jackson after the last box was safely piled up.

Jackson shook his head.

The driver made a sucking noise, drawing in his breath, shaking his head. "You will; she won't let you get away with not. Right; I'll just phone Dean, then that's me away."

"Who's Dean?" asked Hazel.

"Techy geek; he'll set this lot up, get you using it. But I know he's the other side of Leeds just now, so it will probably be a couple of hours until he gets here."

"A couple of hours? Today?" asked Jackson. "Tonight?"

"Well you can't move for boxes in here can you, and they're not for decoration." Wandering, he made a call on his mobile, talking quickly for a minute or two. "Right, that's me away then. Good luck with it, lad."

"I don't believe it," murmured Hazel, as much to herself as to either Jackson or Aaron, as the door closed behind the driver. "I didn't believe her."

"You hungry?" Aaron asked Jackson. "Hazel?"

"No, I'm...listen. Do you mind if I go out, get a breath of air, just for half an hour or so. Clear my head. Will you be alright?"

"So long as he doesn't poison me if he's cooking," Jackson replied quickly, smiling.

"Mmmm. Poison him or starve him," mused Aaron teasingly. "What d'you reckon Hazel?"

Hazel smiled; she'd missed the banter, missed it more than she could ever believe. To hear it now...well...she needed to get out, just for a few minutes, before she made a complete fool of herself.

"Is there any chicken curry in the freezer mum?" asked Jackson. "You could manage defrosting that and cooking rice, couldn't you?" He looked towards Aaron for confirmation.

"Yes, there's plenty. Do you want me to sort it for you?"

"No! I can manage that. You go Hazel, take your time, away to the Woolie," said Aaron, reassuring her.

It didn't really take long; soon he was carrying a steaming plate of food back into Jackson's room, sitting on the bed, as close to Jackson's chair as he could, sharing the plateful between them, giving Jackson a mouthful, then taking one for himself. They ate in companionable silence, for once they didn't bother with the television, only the quiet tunes from Hazel's radio in the kitchen stemming the silence.

The knock at the door surprised them.

"Dean Smith," said the man, flashing his ID card as Aaron opened the door. "Here to set your computer and phone up."

"Is it ok to spread the kit on the bed while we unpack the boxes?" he asked. In no time at all, with Dean unpacking, checking, Aaron taking the boxes outside, out of the way, the computer was set up, the monitor and keyboard on a chest of drawers meantime.

"Right Jackson," said Dean. "At the moment all you are gonna have is the head controls for the computer and your mobile. We'll get to the mobile in a minute, but which ear will you want the Bluetooth in, bearing in mind there's a buddy button too. Ideally we want you having the phone on one side and the computer controls on the other; and there's a suck and puff with the computer to think about."

"I used to hold the phone to my left ear," said Jackson, hesitantly, "so probably that one for the mobile."

Quickly Dean hung a small soft mesh over the right hand end of the headrest of Jackson's chair using it to secure a selection of attachments. Turning the computer on, his hands flashed across the keyboard, entering keys, codes; unlocking a new world. Then he turned his attention to the attachments, methodically linking them.

Next the mobile; taking the handset from its new place, hooked onto the chair, ensuring the Bluetooth was hooked over Jackson's ear, again Dean began pressing the keys.

"What's your number?" he asked Aaron, typing it in as he reeled it off. "Right, say his name, Jackson, really firmly." He held the hand set towards Jackson. "So, this has voice recognition softwear." He hung the phone back on its hook. "Tilt your head, press the buddy button against the headrest, that turns the phone on to make a call, and will answer and end a call. Right? Pressed it?"

Jackson nodded.

"Ok, now say Aaron's name, firmly, just like you did before."

"Aaron!"

In the expectant silence, suddenly Aaron's phone began ringing. Taking it from his pocket, Aaron moved away from Jackson, moved into the kitchen before pressing the accept button.

"Hey!" he said.

"Hey yourself!"

He could hear him; hear his voice drifting through from his room, but he could hear him speaking through the phone too.

"I'll show you how to enter numbers," Dean said to Aaron, running slowly through the steps. "This is my number; if you have any problems, just call. Now, just say my name, Dean Smith, just like you did before."

Jackson did as he was told and again they checked it worked.

"We'll put Mary's number in now; oh she'll check you've got it, believe me, so we might as well do it now; brownie points for us all," He grinned, then guided Aaron through the process; then asking for more numbers Jackson wanted entered.

"Right guys," he said at last. "It's getting late. If it's okay with you, I think I would be better coming back tomorrow and going over the computer with you then; there is a bit more to it than the phone."

"That's fine by me," said Jackson. "I'll be happy playing with this tonight."

"In that case, that's the instructions, Aaron, keep them safe for reference. And we'll get back to the computer in the morning, ten-ish?"

"Sound," said Jackson. Secretly glad, he was tired, but bubbling inside, excitement keeping him going for the moment. He felt his brain was buzzing with so much to take in; so many new and unexpected changes in such a short time.

"Good," said Dean. "I'll just attach your drinks holder and paper rest to your chair before I go. Which do you want on which side?"

With the expertise of years of practise, Dean quickly fastened the two attachments. "These are quite basic," he explained. "You just tug on these pulley-toggles with your teeth to move either of them in towards you."

"You gonna phone Hazel?" Aaron asked after Dean had gone.

"Do you mind putting me to bed first?" he asked. "I'm tired, and if I drop off once I'm there it's ok," he paused, suddenly shy. "Are you staying again tonight?"

"Do you want me to? I didn't disturb you too much."

"I'd like you to, please," said Jackson, a slight, hopeful smile touching his lips.

"Let's get you sorted then," said Aaron. Used to it now, he quickly positioned the hoist, lifted Jackson into bed, eased the clothes from his upper body, slipping a clean tee shirt over his head. Undoing his jeans, he moved his hips, sliding them down. Reaching for a small lidded bucket, he emptied Jackson's catheter bag, attaching the larger night bag and fixing it to its stand.

And all the while Jackson kept his eyes tightly shut, hiding from this reality, not wanting to see Aaron as he did the things he hated thinking about. Only once the covers were up, did he open his eyes.

Saying nothing yet, Aaron slipped from the room with the bucket, emptying it; he left it at the door, out of Jackson's sight for the moment. Washing his hands, he brought back toothbrush, water and a bowl with him.

Teeth done, Aaron perched on the bed and set the Bluetooth earpiece in place.

"Oh wait a minute!" said Jackson. "I haven't got the headrest to press the buddy button against," he twisted his head sideways, "and I can't press it against my shoulder either. Damn!" Suddenly thwarted, Jackson felt tears of frustration picking behind his eyes; it had been such a good day, now all he wanted to do was cry.

"Wait a minute," said Aaron; he wanted nothing more than to reach out and press the button for him, yet he knew that wouldn't help. "Try and catch it in your mouth, use your lips though, not your teeth."

At last, with a bit of a struggle, Jackson had caught the button on its short, rigid lead, had pressed it.

"Mum!" he said, as firmly as he could.

Seconds later, Hazel answered, hesitant, not recognising the number, struggling to stop the tears flowing as she heard his voice, as she spoke to her son on the phone for the first time in months.

They were in bed by the time she returned home, glad of the evening's escape, of the mindless, gossipy banter at the Woolie. She whispered their names, then peeked behind the curtain hiding the bed; both of them were sleeping, Aaron wrapped around Jackson, all the pain, the stress of the last months banished from their faces. She could swear Jackson was smiling.

...

It was tea time the following day when the loud and demanding knock came at the door again. Opening it, ushering Mary Coggins into the room, standing back while Mary Coggins marched into the room, Hazel felt again the overwhelming presence of the woman and wondered how it was that in three days, everything felt so different.

Mary's eyes flicked quickly round the room, noting the changes already in place, noting the attachments beginning to appear on Jackson's wheelchair.

"Now Hazel," she began, after the initial greetings had been exchanged. "The furniture is coming tomorrow, but I don't know what time, but just to warn you, it might be quite early."

"Furniture?" questioned Hazel. "Plural?"

"The bed I spoke of;" Mary explained. "It can move, rather like this one, but it doesn't look quite so much as though it would be more at home in Hotton General. It does have a safety side panel though. Then there is a computer desk; you can't use it properly where it is. This one comes at the right height to get your wheelchair under. I think you'll like it Jackson." She looked at Jackson. "How did you get on with Dean?"

"Fine," said Jackson. "He was here until mid afternoon and said he'll be back tomorrow. I was getting a bit tired."

"It's a lot to learn," agreed Mary. "He got your phone set up I take it?" she asked, nodding at the phone on its holder, the earpiece.

"Yeah, it's magic," said Jackson, grinning at her.

"I'll programme my number in before I go," she said.

"Already done," smiled Jackson.

"Well why haven't you phoned me then!" she demanded, her eyes sparkling, teasing.

"Erm, I... I didn't think...didn't know," said Jackson uncertainly.

"I'm joking," laughed Mary. "Although you phone me if you ever want to; if you need something or just want a chat. Okay?"

"Okay," smiled Jackson.

"Just out of interest; what has Dean set the voice rec name tag for me as? The last one he did, he set to 'Dragon'; I told him he'd be mince if he did that again."

Jackson coloured, Dean had told him the story, insisting it was a compliment, really. "It's just 'Mary'; is that okay?"

"Perfect. Now, what about that signature; have you had time to practice?"

Leaning his head forward; searching for the pulley-toggle with his mouth, Jackson carefully moved the paper rest round in front of him.

"It's not very good," he apologised, gazing at the paper, at the tentative pencil marks covering it.

"For a first attempt, it's jolly good," said Mary cheerfully. "Now, I'll give you a couple of weeks to keep practicing, then we'll go to the bank and get it witnesses. Try and add a 'W' to the 'J', keep it distinctive."

"Jackson nodded, but said nothing.

"Are you okay with everything so far Jackson," Mary asked, aware that so much had happened for Jackson, aware that maybe he needed time to catch his breath.

"No, it's fine, honestly," Jackson smiled at her. "It's just unbelievable."

"Good. Right; I'll give you peace over the weekend, but I'll call on Monday morning; we need to have a bit of a chat about what you are going to do with your life."

"Do?" questioned Jackson, puzzled.

"Watching daytime telly isn't a career option as far as I'm concerned, so think on lad."

Seeing her out, walking down the path with her, Hazel questioned Mary.

"How can he possibly work Mary; he was a builder for goodness sake!"

"Hazel," Mary paused, leaning against her car. "You must think I am a bully, talking rubbish, expecting too much. But believe me, leaving him sitting there with nothing to do with his life will kill him. I know he's been depressed, it's only to be expected, but the tablets can't do it all. He needs a purpose, to do something with his time, keep his mind busy in a worthwhile way. We've just got to match what he wants to do with what he can do."

"He can't stand it, you know." admitted Hazel slowly, sadly. "He was wanting to...you know..." she let the words trail away into the air as shuddering sobs took their place.

Mary pulled Hazel towards her, hugged her, waited as the sobs subsided, as she turned away, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"I'm not surprised, Hazel; it's something most people in Jackson's situation think about. Which is why he needs to be occupied, feel useful, to feel like a son, a boyfriend again, not to feel like someone who has carers now where once he had a mother and a lover."

"I'm sorry...about this," sniffed Hazel.

"You're allowed a wobble now and then," smiled Mary, reassuringly. "But trust me, this time next year, he won't even know what's on day time telly, let alone want to watch it. You've got through the worst of it, Hazel, so has Jackson. The lows will never be as low again. As the song says, 'the only way is up'."

Hazel watched as she drove away, wanting to believe her, desperate to believe her.

...

Aaron stretched in the bed, the new bed, their new bed. It was Sunday morning, no need to rush, he didn't have to go to his work. Turning, he saw Jackson's eyes open, watching him.

"Thought you were still asleep," murmured Aaron, reaching his hand out, running his fingers through the soft hair on Jackson's chin.

Jackson moved his head a fraction, capturing Aaron's fingers in his mouth, nipping them gently before letting them slide away as he spoke.

"Been awake a while, watching you."

"You should have woken me,"

"Nah, I was fine."

"I'll get coffee in a minute."

"I can wait," said Jackson, smiling at him. "Last night; it was ok, wasn't it?"

Aaron grinned at him, moved, slid his legs over Jackson, held himself over his chest letting him look down on him, into the dark, sparkling eyes gazing up at him.

"It was lovely...I never thought we..." he stopped.

"You talk dirty so well," teased Jackson.

"Oh shut up!" exclaimed Aaron, burying his head in Jackson's shoulder. "I can't believe I said some of those things."

"Well you certainly kept me coming and coming in my head; it was good. Like when you said you had hold of me, were touching me, were tossing me off; yet your hands were on my face, I could see them, really feel them, but it was like you had four hands! But if you're gonna lie on top of me, you could at least kiss me."

"Oh God! Am I hurting you?" Aaron pushed himself up.

"Well I'm still breathing, dunno about anything else," said Jackson pragmatically.

"A kiss, then coffee," said Aaron, leaning over, kissing him deeply, before sliding from the bed, padding through to the kitchen.

What a difference a week made, he reflected, as he let water pour into the kettle. A week ago, Jackson had been despairing, wanting to end his life; a week ago, they hadn't slept together since before Jackson's accident, a week ago Jackson didn't have a phone he could use, a computer he could use. What a difference a week had made; what a difference Mary had made.

"What about the Woolie for lunch?" asked Aaron, holding Jackson's coffee for him a few minutes later, thinking that he would need to ask Mary for another one of the arms with the cup holder to attach to the bed, or near the bed.

"For a Marlon roast? You're on."

"You want a shower or bath this morning?" asked Aaron, tentatively. Usually Jackson didn't like him doing too much for him, preferring to leave it to Joe. But Joe didn't come on a Sunday, and this week, everything was different.

"Can you be bothered?" asked Jackson.

"Have a bath and I'll come in with you," teased Aaron.

"You can't!" exclaimed Jackson.

"A week ago we didn't think we would ever sleep together again," pointed out Aaron.

"Well if you drown me, I'll kill you!" said Jackson seriously, before laughing at the expression on Aaron's face.

It took longer than Aaron expected, and was more awkward, but they giggled and laughed as they hadn't for months.

Upstairs, enjoying lazing in her bed for once, Hazel could hear them, had no idea what they were doing, didn't guess, didn't care; the noise they were making was her miracle of the day.

The following day, Jackson was back in the Woolpack; this time with Mary Coggins. She had suggested the small outing, interested to see Jackson out of Dale Head, away from Hazel or Aaron. She was pleased at the change in him, at the light in his eyes; she had done the emergency repairs, now she had to build on that.

"So Jackson," she said, sipping her coffee, "you told me before you were a builder; tell me about it, did you like it, who did you work for?"

"Worked for myself," said Jackson wistfully, remembering. Loved it, though I wanted to be an architect when I was younger, my maths let me down though, I was hopeless."

"And did you get plenty of work?"

"Yeah, kept well busy," admitted Jackson.

"So what's happened to the business?" asked Mary.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, did anyone else work for you? Are they still? What about its status now, its finances?"

"It was just me, no one else," said Jackson. "I don't understand what you're getting at?"

"Well, do you want to go back to it; obviously you can't do the actual building now, but you can still run the business, employ people, tender for jobs."

"I hadn't even thought about it," said Jackson.

"Or you could re-train; you have a think about it and so will I."

A while later, as they were heading back to Dale Head, Mary stopped, leaned against a wall.

"Jackson," she began, for once not looking directly at him, "there is something else I wanted you to think about; it's not really my area, but I think, having given you and Aaron a nudge..." she looked at him now, looking at him in time to catch a brief flush of embarrassment, of pleasure, colour his face.

"Your notes say you still have an indwelling urinary catheter." It was a statement, not a question. "I just wanted to remind you there are other options; maybe you would want to talk to your GP about them; or the hospital, the next time you are there."

"Can I get rid of it?" asked Jackson awkwardly; he hated seeing it, thinking about it.

"You will always need something," said Mary, not sugaring the pill. "But you could have the catheter entering through your abdomen. Or there are sheaths; like condoms with a bag attached, but they can be leaky."

Jackson nodded, not wanting to speak about it anymore, but understanding why Mary mentioned it.

Moving on, Mary walking beside Jackson's chair, they soon reached Dale Head.

"Don't let me forget to ask Dean to organise a door remote for you," said Mary as she opened the front door for him.

Back in her car, Mary sat quietly, thinking, for a few minutes; before firmly starting her car, her plan already in place in her mind.

...

Jackson was already in bed when his phone rang later that evening; it was still early, but he was tired, his head was buzzing, and mindless telly had far more of an appeal from their new bed.

"D'you want me to get that?" asked Aaron, knowing the Bluetooth headset was by the computer.

"Yeah. Who is it," asked Jackson.

"Mary," replied Aaron, squinting at the screen. "Bit late, I wonder what she wants?"

"Well answer it then and find out."

Pressing the accept key, Aaron held the phone to Jackson's ear; listening to one side of the conversation, he could make no sense of it as Jackson answered as if brevity was a virtue.

"What?" he asked impatiently as Jackson said goodbye

"She said John is coming to collect me at eleven tomorrow, I've to be smart, and you can come if I want."

"John," questioned Aaron. "John who? Did she say where we're going?"

"John. Yorkshire Motorbility, And no, she didn't; it's probably just the signature thing," said Jackson. "I know she's keen to get that sorted."

"Yeah," agreed Aaron, sliding under the covers beside him. "What d'you want to watch?"

"Do we have to watch anything?" asked Jackson, smiling at him.

...

Jackson's head was aching; he hadn't slept very well, for the first time since Aaron returned to his bed, he had been unsettled, needing to wake him, needing to say his name several times before he woke, before he could ask him to move him. Having to ask made him irritable; lack of sleep made him irritable, not knowing where they were going was preying on his mind, making him irritable. He tried to make Aaron phone Mary, say he wasn't well enough to go; Aaron had just looked at him; didn't quite ignore him.

"Do you think she'll fall for that one?" was all he said, raising an eyebrow to emphasise his point.

"At the moment, I don't really care," snapped Jackson. "Can't be bothered with it today."

"Well it's too late now; here's John. Let's head."

Still grumbling, Jackson waited until Aaron had opened the door, then moved slowly down the ramp towards the waiting car.

"Yours'll be the newer version of this," said John, by way of greeting, "but in black. Delivery four weeks or so now."

"As quick as that!" whistled Aaron, watching intently as John secured Jackson's chair after raising it on the integral ramp. "How come?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," chanted John, sliding into the driver's seat.

Ignoring Jackson's silence, Aaron and John talked cars as they headed towards Hotton. Expecting them to turn towards the town centre, Jackson was surprised as they went in the other direction.

"Haven't you gone the wrong way?" he asked. "I thought we were going to the bank."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" asked John. "We're heading into Leeds; Mary will meet us there."

"Where though?"

"Stoddart & Chambers," answered John shortly as a car cut close in front of him.

"Never heard of 'em," said Aaron cheerfully.

"I have," said Jackson slowly. "They're architects."

Jackson felt like his head was spinning, buzzing with his thoughts twirling, tumbling over themselves, trying to make some sense of their destination. What the hell was Mary Coggins playing at? Surely she wasn't going to rub his nose in what he couldn't have; what he could never have had, even when he had a body that worked. He closed his eyes, dreading what was coming; if it was to talk about doing more renovations to Dale Head, well! they could have come to him; a site visit would have been so much less painful than this. Saying nothing, biting his lip, needing the sharp pain to stop the tears that threatened to betray him from falling, Jackson watched as they travelled relentlessly onwards.

Sooner, far sooner than he wanted, they arrived, drawing up outside a shiny modern office building. Mary Coggins was pacing impatiently in the foyer; Jackson could see her through the bank of glistening glass that fronted the building.

"You alright?" Aaron asked as John lowered the ramp for Jackson to move towards the building. "What do you think we're doing here?" he continued, gently resting his hand on the curve between Jackson's neck and shoulder as feelings of uncertainty began to wash over him.

Jackson couldn't speak; didn't dare trust himself to speak; he shook his head, a tiny movement against the rigid control of his emotions as he struggled to keep his face impassive.

The automatic doors opened as they approached them; Mary rushed towards them.

"Come on! This way!" she said, without even greeting them, immediately leading them towards a lift. The doors opened as they approached.

"Automatic. Linked to a CCTV system," she stated briefly. "We're going to the 4th floor; say '4th floor' into the microphone Jackson."

"Mary. I'm not sure..." began Aaron as the lift doors closed behind them, as he heard the struggle in Jackson's voice as he did as Mary asked. Looking down, catching his eyes, he saw despair returned.

"Mary, no," said Aaron more firmly, shaking his head.

Pausing then in her own excitement, her agitation, bending her knees, kneeling, she really looked at Jackson for the first time since they arrived.

"Oh Jackson, I'm so sorry, I should have explained, but it is just too good an opportunity to miss. This company..."

But whatever she was going to say was cut off as the lift doors swung open.

A man was waiting as the lift doors opened; early sixties perhaps, his salt and pepper hair giving an air of distinction.

"Chris Stoddart," he said, walking towards Mary, his hand out held in greeting.

"Mary Coggins," announced Mary, "and Jackson Walsh and Aaron Livsey. Thank you for seeing us so quickly, Mr Stoddart."

"You are a very hard lady to say no to, Mrs Coggins." He stood back, allowing them to enter a spacious office ahead of him.

"You were never going to say no to me, Mr Stoddart; I've read your company bio."

He laughed, rumbling deep and genuine. "So Jackson, what do you think?" he asked.

"Think?" said Jackson, confused. "I don't..."

"I haven't actually had chance to say anything to Jackson yet," interrupted Mary, suddenly sounding vaguely awkward, embarrassed.

Chris Stoddart laughed again. "So you're wondering what on earth is going on!" The notion seemed to amuse him, the rumbling laughter continued.

"Mrs Coggins tell me you were a builder before your accident," he said.

"Hardly relevant now, though, is it?" sneered Jackson.

"And before you were a builder, as a youngster, you wanted to be an architect. So here's the deal; though I warn you, it's a long haul. Work experience here to begin with, get the maths grades you need and your computer skills up to scratch. Then we'll sponsor you through the course; in the first three years there is a bit of flexibility, but gives you a degree at the end of it, then the remaining years are split between academic and practical." He paused. "What do you think?"

"Wait a minute," said Aaron, unable to believe what he was hearing, needing to get it clear in his mind. "Are you saying he can actually be an architect? Even though he can't move?"

"If he's prepared to put the work in, yes!" Chris Stoddart answered Aaron, but smiled at Jackson. "You need to be able to use the various computer programmes, and you need the ideas, the vision; that most of all."

"But why?" questioned Jackson. Surely this was a dream, he reasoned, he'd wake up any minute to find everything – the last two weeks – was a dream; his own nightmare.

"I think I can answer that one," began Mary, "if that's alright with you?" She glanced at Chris Stoddart; continuing at his nod. "You have a son, don't you; like Jackson, he has very limited movement, although not through an accident. All through your working life you have tried to make a practical difference to his life; and people in similar situations, hence all the automatic doors and voice recognition technlogy you integrate into your buildings." She paused; he wasn't looking at her now, instead was staring at something on the ground.

"And as for the sponsorship, well another company did that for him, I believe, years ago now and since your company became successful enough, you have done the same. Does that about cover it?"

"Very eloquently, Mrs Coggins," he replied, visibly taking a deep breath. "You certainly did read the company bio – very carefully. But how did you find out about us?"

"Goggle is my best friend," smiled Mary. "Plus a phone call to my predecessor in the office; I had very vague memories of her mentioning you, your company. So Jackson? What do you think?"

"It seems too good to be true," he replied slowly. "I'm looking for strings, catches."

"No strings attached, no catches," assured Chris quietly. "Come in a few times, get to know folk, see how we work; see how you feel. There's no need to commit yourself to years of study straight away."

Jackson bit his lip; it wouldn't be sore if it was a dream, would it. He smiled.

...

Jackson looked at the letter lying on his lap; he'd done it, he'd got his degree, metaphorically jumped over the first hurdle. Actually, he reflected, it must have been the second, third, fourth hurdle at least; the maths, he smiled, remembering the agony of trying to understand. The computer; the myriad of complex programmes to learn, to become familiar with, to become comfortable with; let alone actually controlling the mouse. Even just getting into the office; the exhaustion that initially overwhelmed him, working a couple of days a week for a few hours at a time, gradually building his strength, his stamina, until he could work a full week, was an obstacle to overcome.

What a difference four years made; four years that in the months after his accident, in those black months of despair when there seemed no light of life at the end of his tunnel, would have seemed like an impossible dream had anyone been able to tell him of them.

He was working, studying hard, now able to embark on the next stage towards realising his dream of becoming an architect.

And Aaron. He had Aaron, Aaron had him. Their relationship was good, fulfilling; perhaps not sexual in the accepted sense, but sensual, erotic, satisfying them both.

Impatiently, Jackson waited for Aaron to come back; how long did it take him to scrub the engine oil from his hands. There was something he wanted to ask him; something he had promised himself, months ago, to ask him, if he passed his exams and got his degree.

He already had the ring in his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He knew it was there, tucked into the pocket of his checked shirt, the pocket over his heart; it was burning him. So intense was his awareness, he couldn't believe that what he was feeling wasn't real, that it could only be in his head.

He hadn't been going to carry it with him all day; he had wanted to leave it sitting in its small box, safely hidden, until after the letter had been delivered, until he knew the results of his final exams, until the final mark for the last three years work had been decided and he knew if he could continue his course, his dream. He wanted to ask him on day of celebration not a day of failure, failure he dreaded now, almost more than anything else.

But Joe had been in early that morning, getting him up; Joe who knew about the ring, had been shopping with him for the ring, Joe who had slipped it into his pocket that morning, despite his protestations that he needed to know what the letter said before asking Aaron to make such a big commitment.

What on earth was he doing anyway? He wasn't usually quite so scrupulous about washing the oil off his hands and he had been away ages. Jackson burled his wheelchair quickly round, heading out of the sun porch towards the kitchen, towards the muted muttering voices; Aaron and his mother.

"Is this a private conspiracy," he said, "or can anyone join in?"

Turning at his voice, flushing guilty, Aaron took a bulging hessian bag from Hazel.

"I need to do something about that chair of yours," he grumbled, "it's too damned quiet!"

"How can I catch you talking about me if I can't sneak up on you," countered Jackson cheerfully. "What's going on anyway?"

"We're going out," announced Aaron. "C'mon."

"But I've got stuff I need to get done today," protested Jackson.

"Stoddart & Chambers aren't going to grind to a halt if you skive for a few hours," said Aaron. "Now move!"

"But what about the garage?" asked Jackson, although he turned his chair, heading towards the door.

"Told Debbie I wouldn't be back today. So if you're sorted," he nodded vaguely in the direction of Jackson's legs, "we'll head!"

"Yeah, it's fine," said Jackson, knowing what he meant, what he was asking, but hating still having to talk about it, think about it. "Mum did it not long ago."

Aaron turned aside then, picked up a hoodie, turned back to the front door, waiting as Jackson pressed his remote to open it.

"Where're we going anyway?" asked Jackson, trundling down the ramp.

"Picnic," Aaron answered briefly. "To celebrate. Besides, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Jackson turned towards the car, expecting them to be driving out of the village.

"No, this way," said Aaron, turning to walk down the lane opposite Dale Head.

"You know it's gonna rain any minute, don't you," said Jackson.

"Which is why we're only going to the cricket pavilion," replied Aaron smugly.

"Whoa! An exciting afternoon out then!" teased Jackson, but he grinned at Aaron, receiving his answering, understanding, grin in return.

From the lane, a path led into the cricket field, a well-worn path as it led towards the pavilion.

"You managing?" asked Aaron, as Jackson slowed his chair, watching for ruts.

"Yeah, fine; top of the range ATV, this!" said Jackson wryly.

There was a gently sloping ramp at one side of the pavilion, giving access to the sheltered decking and the interior of the building; it had been built a year after Jackson's accident, the sight of him in his chair around the village prompting the decision by the cricket club committee to review access to the building.

Jackson reversed as near as he could to the end of one of the benches, Aaron sat, began removing silver foil wrapped parcels, small plastic boxes, from the bag.

"Do I need to be worried?" asked Jackson.

"Oh ha ha!" retorted Aaron. "Your mum made the food, if you must know. Tinny?" he pulled a couple of cans of lager from the bag, showing them to Jackson.

"Okay! I need to be worried!"

"Think you're funny or something, Walsh!" smiled Aaron, pinging the lid of the can, slotting it into the holder then dropping a straw in, positioning it carefully, allowing Jackson to drink it himself.

"What's she given us then?" asked Jackson.

"Cheese or chicken rolls, cold pasta in some sort of mayo with bits in, biscuits and stuff. What do you want?"

"Chicken roll to start with, please."

Aaron began undoing the foil wrapped rolls, finding a chicken one; he spread the foil on Jackson's lap, lifting the roll for him to take a bite.

Searching again, he found a cheese one for himself and began eating.

"What sort of cheese is that?" asked Jackson, peering at Aaron's roll, checking that he wasn't missing something better than the chicken he had chosen.

"Dunno, some sort of cream cheese," he said, offering Jackson a bite.

"Mmm, that's nice," said Jackson, tasting it.

For a while, they sat contentedly eating; sharing the pasta, the biscuits, packed by Hazel. For a while Jackson forgot about trying to find the right moment to ask Aaron the question that had been gnawing at his mind; that he had been thinking about for months, since it had dawned on him that the fear had left him. The fear that had been the backdrop of his life for months, for the first years after the accident; the fear that Aaron would leave him, the fear that Aaron was only with him to assuage his own guilt, to undertake his penance.

And yet he couldn't pin down the exact moment that the fear left him; it was a cumulative thing; the tiny but relentless drip drip drip of a tap; the small but never ending things that Aaron did, trying to make things easier for him; the moments of closeness, of communication, of wordless understanding that were binding them together.

That wasn't all of the thoughts that had pounded restlessly through his mind though; it had taken time, even longer, to rebuild his image of himself, to believe that he could be more than a burden to Aaron, to their relationship, that he could bring something to it, not just take all that was offered.

He had needed to wait, needed to feel that he was more than just Jackson the tetraplegic; he had needed to become again Jackson the boyfriend, Jackson the lover, Jackson the man who could do a day's work and feel good about himself at the end of it.

And then he realised there would always be another hurdle ahead of him; another challenge to overcome. He had to draw the line, set a date for himself; results day, today, this would be the day he would ask...only ask.

The sky had clouded over as they had been sitting; the rain predicted by Jackson earlier began; slow, heavy drops spattering rhythmically down, gaining speed, gaining density, soaking everything around them, the greying sky stealing the light from the shaded veranda.

"Do you remember the day we came here, the day before you started at Stoddart & Chambers," began Aaron; he spoke quietly, almost dreamily, without looking at Jackson; his mind drifting back almost four years. "They hadn't built the ramp then, so you parked by the edge of the veranda and I sat on it."

Jackson smiled, he did remember it; he'd been bricking it, thinking about the next day; a nervous, quivering wreck inside, however still his body was.

"I said you'd be fine and I'd always be there to give you a hug; and I asked you." Aaron paused, for a moment there was silence between them. "And you said you wouldn't let me make that kind of commitment,"he finished quietly.

Jackson remembered it so well; the emotion in his voice, the tears in his eyes, the hurt as he told him it couldn't be, not yet, not just then. Not when they had spiralled through a twisting, whirlwind of emotions; not when he was so raw; had been so low, so desperate; then the lifeline had been fragile. It was stronger now.

"Well I'm still here Jackson. I haven't gone anywhere; you didn't manage to push me away after the accident; I haven't ever wanted to go anywhere. I need to ask you again."

Jackson shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips.

"Jackson! No! Don't say no again! I'll keep asking!" Aaron exclaimed seeing the movement, tears of frustration already pricking his eyes.

"No, it's not that," said Jackson quickly. "Do you thing we're fools or great minds?"

"Eh?" puzzled now, Aaron looked at him.

"Pocket," said Jackson, nodding, looking down at his chest. "There's something…take it out."

Aaron slid his fingers across Jackson's chest, dipping into his pocket; not watching his hand, his eyes were fixed on Jackson's eyes, those dark chocolate pools that drew him in, made his heart, his soul, melt.

His fingers curled around the warm metal; immediately recognising the shape even as his thoughts struggled to catch up, as he struggled to believe that what he was thinking, hoping for, might be true. Drawing his fingers from Jackson's pocket, he opened them slowly, revealing the wide gold band, shining even in the dim light of the veranda.

"Jackson!" he whispered.

"It's my turn to ask you, this time," he said, smiling.

"Ask me what?" Aaron crouched in front of Jackson's chair, waiting.

"If you still want me…if you will have me for life…" Jackson briefly closed his eyes, bit his lip; this was a huge thing he was asking Aaron. "I would like a legal relationship with you; I would like us to have a civil partnership."

There were tears in Aaron's eyes again as he stood, leant his arms on the armrests of Jackson's chair, supporting himself as he leant in to Jackson, as he kissed Jackson.

"That'll be a yes then, will it?" smiled Jackson when he could breathe again.

"Of course it's a yes, you daft sod," Aaron grinned at him. "When? Shite! I should have thought and got you a ring too."

"Whenever you like," replied Jackson. "But you can't wear the ring until then; I just wanted you to know I had it."

"And you're sure you're okay with it this time?" asked Aaron, suddenly serious, speaking intently. "Last time…"

"Last time was just the wrong time," smiled Jackson, "but that didn't mean I didn't appreciate it. So much better now though, least for me. I needed to get my life back."

"And now you have?" questioned Aaron.

"And now I've started, I'm well on down the road," replied Jackson, remembering the beginning of that road.

…

Neither of them slept well that night, anxious for the day ahead. Struggling not to move, not to wake Jackson when he thought he had dozed off, Aaron lay, watching the bright red LED display on the bedside clock change minute by slow minute; hour by endless hour. He must have slept a little, but fitfully, his mind still busy, over thinking the hours to come.

At last, as day break changed the light seeping through the curtains, Aaron slipped from the bed, leaving Jackson asleep; he wanted a coffee, just quietly, on his own, before he got one for Jackson, before the day had to begin.

Jackson was awake when he carried the coffee back through to the bedroom, a second, strong, mug for himself; a first, with a straw already in place, for Jackson.

"We'll have coffee, then I'll help you shower," said Aaron, easing Jackson forward in the bed as he pressed the button that bent the top of the bed forward a little. With one hand, he pulled the pillows into a fresh position before settling Jackson gently back.

"Joe's coming in," said Jackson abruptly.

"Why's he coming in?" demanded Aaron. "It's not his day; I could have got you ready?"

"I asked him to. I don't want you getting me ready."

"Well I'm not going in to work; I've got plenty of time."

"Course you're going to work; can't hang around me all day." Jackson said wearily. "I'm not getting up yet anyway."

"Why not?" asked Aaron.

"Cos I need," began Jackson, taking a deep breath, not looking at him.

"What?" persisted Aaron.

"For fuck sake Aaron!" he snarled angrily. "Do you want me to spell it out! I don't want to shit myself on my first day. I don't want to shit myself on any day. So I need to wait for Joe to shove suppositories up my arse, then hoist me to the loo and hope I don't shit myself, the bed, or all over the floor, in the meantime."

"I could have done that," said Aaron quietly.

"No Aaron! You couldn't! Nothing goes up my arse these days except suppositories! Or if I get really constipated, they give me an enema. How the fuck do you think that makes me feel? I'll tell you shall I?"

"Jackson!" Aaron's whisper cut across his words, but couldn't halt the vitriolic flow, stem the outpouring of pain, of bitterness.

"It reminds me that I can never have a proper lover again, can never _be_ a proper lover; that I can't even wipe my own arse! and never will again! Get out Aaron! Now! Just leave me alone!" Anguish ripping through his words, he turned his face away from Aaron, closed his eyes, biting his lip – hard – fighting the tears that threatened to fall; tears that he couldn't have wiped away.

Aaron wanted to stay, was desperate to stay, to reach out, to touch his face, to hold him; but he seemed so far away, so distant; deliberately distant. For a moment he let his eyes rest on him, watching for a sign, anything that told him Jackson didn't want him to go; seeing nothing to draw him back, he left their bed, their room, their house.

He saw Joe driving towards the house but didn't pause, didn't even look directly at the car as he paced towards the garage; he couldn't speak to him, not just now.

The garage was still locked; he was glad, glad he had remembered to lift his keys; glad he didn't have to face Cain or Debbie just yet. Opening the door only wide enough to let him slip through, he pulled it close behind him, relishing the kind semi-darkness. Making his way to the makeshift kitchen, he sunk onto the old car seat that was pushed against one wall, then bent forward, almost holding himself, his arms clasped around his churning guts, holding his pain inside. Rocking gently; it felt like his very blood was on fire, burning with the hurt running through him. Yet he knew; he knew it was nothing compared to what Jackson was going through, what he would go through every minute of his life from now onwards.

The rattle of the door alerted him that someone else was arriving; there was no more time to nurse his hurt. Scrambling quickly to his feet, he turned to fill the kettle, rattle the dirty, tea-stained teaspoon in mugs that had seen better days.

"Didn't expect to see you here this morning," said Cain warily, "and skulking around in the dark."

"I'm putting the kettle on," said Aaron, deliberately emphasising each word. "Assume you want a brew?"

"Chucked you out, did he?" said Cain, watching him, waiting for him to answer, noticing the bloodshot redness of his eyes.

Aaron remained silent, but stopped putting the kettle on; stopped pretending to put the kettle on.

"Big day for him, this," continued Cain, "probably needed a bit of head space from you."

"He's got flaming Joe getting him ready," snapped Aaron.

"Who's paid to do and won't be fussing round him like a mother hen. Let him alone to cope with it. And be nice when you go home. Now where's that brew? Then you can get on with that Discovery; don't think you're going to be moaning round here all day doing sod all."

Glaring at him, Aaron resumed making tea for Cain, choosing coffee for himself. He took his mug out of the garage, around the side of the building where the Discovery was parked.

Cain sipped at his tea, thinking; he would give it a little while yet.

...

It was over; that indignity was over for the day, for two days if he was lucky. Showered and dressed, he could face the rest of the day; could reflect on the words that had poured from his mouth to someone who should never have heard them; who didn't deserve them.

He moved his head, moved his chair to the computer set up in the corner of the room.

"You've not got much time for that," said Joe. "John will be here with the car soon."

"Need to send a text," Jackson replied shortly. He didn't need to say much; he just needed Aaron to know.

Struggling with the mouse he was still getting used to, it took longer than he meant, even to type a short message; as he clicked send, a sharp knock rat-tatted against the door, the door that opened without waiting for an answer.

For a second, Jackson's heart lifted; dashed in a moment as Cain slid round the door.

"Give us a minute," he said, looking steadily at Joe.

"I don't know," began Joe hesitantly, "we're going out soon."

"Do one!" snapped Cain. "Now!"

Questioningly, unsure, Joe looked at Jackson.

"It's fine," said Jackson wearily. Waiting until Joe had left the room, "I've text him," he said as Cain perched on the bed next to his chair.

"How are you?" asked Cain.

Jackson raised his eyebrows wryly. "Just want today over," he answered.

"It's always hard starting somewhere new," agreed Cain, "especially with..."

"With not being able to move or do anything for myself," interrupted Jackson harshly.

"I was going to say," continued Cain patiently, "especially with Aaron fussing round you like an old woman."

"Yeah, that too," agreed Jackson, the trace of a smile ghosting across his lips.

"You gonna see him before you go?" asked Cain.

"Yeah, of course," said Jackson.

"Good," nodded Cain. "Whatever went on, he's gutted about it."

"It's my fault, not his," said Jackson. "I'll sort it."

"It's hard. For both of you. But you can do this." Cain looked directly into Jackson's face, into his eyes; he nodded, ever so slightly. "Hope it goes well today," he finished, abruptly standing, briefly touching his hand high on Jackson's shoulder; touching him where he could feel the pressure of his touch, feel the much needed reassurance carefully given.

...

Aaron grabbed his phone as soon as he heard the ping of a text message arriving; unconsciously, holding his breath until he saw the name on the screen, exhaling in relief as he read the few words, smiling that he once again could get text messages from Jackson; it seemed so wonderful; it seemed so normal.

He could watch now, watch for John arriving with the car; then he would go up, to say goodbye, to wish him luck; not before.

He stayed near the Discovery; kept the bonnet up but couldn't concentrate to work, to do more than stare at the road end; watching for John and his Yorkshire Motorbility pope-mobile to appear. He was glad Cain kept out of his way; he'd lost him for a few minutes, but now he could hear him again, tunelessly whistling to himself.

He heard the diesel rumble of the pope-mobile; was halfway to Dale Head, before he saw the car. Watching as it drew to a halt, he waited, not wanting to venture inside the house; remembering Cain's words.

He was leaning against the wall, almost opposite the house, when it opened, when Jackson slowly made his way down the ramp. Seeing him, Jackson nodded briefly to John, wordlessly asking for a minute; needing however long it took.

"I'm sorry," Jackson said as he closed the distance between himself and Aaron. "You didn't deserve that."

Aaron pulled a face, raised his eyebrows, let a gentle, wry smile touch his lips for a brief moment. "I've probably been suffocating you a bit," he admitted.

"We okay then?" asked Jackson.

"Course. Sound," smiled Aaron. "I'll let you get on just now, see you when you get back." He lent forward, kissed Jackson quickly, fully on the lips. "Be thinking about you," he said walking backwards, watching all the time he watched as Jackson carefully moved his chair onto the ramp, moved into the car after the ramp had been raised a foot or so. Finally he watched as the car drove out of the village.

Five hours; he would be home in five hours.

"Kettle," said Cain, as Aaron wandered aimlessly back into the garage.

...

Mary Coggins was pacing up and down the foyer as the pope-mobile drew up outside Stoddart & Chambers; Jackson wondered if she ever did anything slowly. He knew she would be waiting for him, knew she wanted to see him introduced, settled in; in three weeks she had become as much of a mother hen as his own mother. Or Aaron.

"Lead the way, Jackson!" exclaimed Mary, by way of greeting; standing back as he aimed his chair towards the lift.

Chris Stoddart came out of his office as the lift doors slid open.

"Jackson, Mary; we'll go straight through to the main office shall we?"

Jackson nodded; he wanted to say 'No! It was all a mistake,' he wanted to go home; instead he clamped his lips tight shut, tilted his head enough to make his chair follow Chris through a door at the far end of the reception area.

Chris spoke as he walked. "I've organised a couple of the guys as mentors," he paused. "Now this is nothing unusual, Jackson; all new starts in my company are mentored, and by as many people as meets their needs. I have called in a favour on the maths front though; my daughter-in-law, she'll be in on Thursday to meet you. And then, the other thing, we talked about, Mary and I..." he came to a halt, his words fading as awkwardness flashed across his face.

"Jackson. You'll need someone...for the times there are personal matters needing attended to," said Mary bluntly. "Seems like Chris has someone in mind."

Jackson knew he was blushing as she spoke, understanding exactly what she was meaning; hating that it had been discussed, was being discussed, that he had to think of it at all.

"Yes," said Chris hurriedly, seeing the discomfort in Jackson's face. "Mrs Maplethorpe, in accounts; she's our registered first aider, and she's got five boys of her own; a no-nonsense sort."

"Does that mean you're scared of her, Chris?" teased Mary.

"Absolutely terrified!" confirmed Chris cheerfully, thankful that Mary had eased the awkwardness.

"Filling me with confidence here," said Jackson, stopping in surprise as the door in front of him swung open, giving him a glimpse of the large, open plan office beyond.

"Follow me," said Chris, leading the way.

Jackson felt the wave of silence, a split second long, engulf him as he moved through the room; felt every pair of eyes turn to gaze at him for a moment as he followed Chris deep into the foreign territory.

Easily getting everyone's attention, Chris introduced Jackson.

He wanted to run and hide; he wanted to lean his head against the headrest and trundle slowly from view; he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him; anything to get away. He tried to look at them, at the mass of faces; tried to smile, appear friendly; not a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming juganaught.

"Come and meet Russ," said Chris, walking further into the large room, heading for a work station next to the window.

A tall, red-headed man watched them approach, somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties, Jackson estimated, appraising him, even as he was appraised himself.

"Russell Conway, Jackson Walsh," said Chris, suddenly noticing the discomfort, the tension.

"No movement," said Russ thoughtfully.

"Just from my shoulders. Upwards," agreed Jackson.

"So it's the wheels all the way then," said Russ.

"Battery powered, me," replied Jackson.

Suddenly, together, they laughed, breaking the ice.

"Russ will be getting your computer skills up to scratch," said Chris to Jackson. "I'm just taking him to meet Aiden and Mrs Maplethorpe," he added to Russ, "then we'll be back."

"See you later then, Wheels!" said Russ cheerfully.

It didn't take too long; Chris lead them to a smaller office to meet Aiden; ages with Jackson, friendly, he thought, he hoped, they would get on.

Finally to Mrs Maplethorpe. She had been expecting them; she was at her desk, but her eyes kept straying to the door. When Chris Stoddart had told her about the lad, she had offered up a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn't one of her own and immediately agreed that she would be the ideal person to do what was necessary. Seeing him now, his large dark eyes wide with the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, her heart melted.

"Nice to meet you, son," she said as Chris introduced them. "I'll let Mr Stoddart and Mrs Coggins finish with you, then what say we go and have a nice quiet coffee somewhere, get to know each other a bit?"

"That's fine by me," said Jackson, nodding at the older woman. "If that's ok with you, Mr Stoddart..." he finished, letting the words drift into the air.

"Of course," said Mr Stoddart. "You spend today getting the feel of the place; take your time, look round the offices. We'll start cracking the whip when you are in on Thursday," he smiled.

"I just need Jackson for a few minutes at one of the workstations," put in Mary quickly. "A quick assessment; see if he needs anything extra."

"I think you'll find we're pretty clued up here, Mary," said Chris Stoddart confidently.

"I'm sure you are," smiled Mary. "More a formality; for my notes. Lead on, Jackson."

"Away over to the workstation by Russ," called Chris as Jackson burled his wheelchair around, heading back towards the larger office.

Mary didn't keep Jackson long; as Chris had rightly said, everything at Stoddart & Chambers was accessible as possible; way beyond the requirements of legislation.

"It's a particular passion with the boss," said Russ, leaning backwards against his desk. "Everything has to be as accessible as possible; and if it isn't possible, he has a think – or finds someone to have a think – and make it possible. He's driven; but he's done remarkable things. And he expects everyone in the company to sing from the same hymn sheet. So, we doing okay?" He directed his last comment to Mary.

"Just grand, Russ, as I expected. I think the only think we'll need is another mouse like the one that Jackson is just getting used to using at home."

"If you give me the details, I can order it, and the connections to use on several machines," said Russ.

"Ah, that'll be good," said Mary. "Right Jackson, I'm going just now. Any problems; phone me, actually, phone me tonight anyway; and I'll see you later in the week."

Jackson watched as Mary left, it was up to him now, to grasp the chance he had been so unexpectedly been given.

"You okay talking about it?" asked Russ, nodding towards Jackson's wheelchair. "How'd it happen?"

"Yeah, no worries," replied Jackson. "Argument with a train; this is lucky. Or so I'm told,"

"Nasty!" whistled Russ through his teeth.

"Took a while to get to get my head round it," agreed Jackson. "Before Mary, I was ready to..." he paused. "Well, let's say she's a cross between an angel and the gizmo queen in our house!"

"You ain't seen nothing yet, Wheels!" laughed Russ. "Right! All the computers here have voice recognition softwear on them; I'll configure a couple in each office for you to start with; we can always add more if we need to, but we can do that next week; we'll be gentle with you this week!"

"Thanks" said Jackson.

"Listen," said Russ; "this is a sound company. We all get mentored, and then are mentors, and usually both at the same time; stick with it and you'll end up mentoring too; Chris won't let the fact that you use a chair stop you. Meantime, just ask; anything, anybody. You'll get used to us."

Jackson looked at the man, a few years older than himself; he felt the anxiety he had been nursing begin to relax; to withdraw; it might be alright after all.

"I should go and see Mrs Maplethorpe," he said hesitantly.

"Do what you need to do; I'll catch up with you later."

Jackson slowly trundled his chair towards the accounts department; towards the office containing Mrs Maplethorpe. If he could have made the chair go any slower, he would. He knew he should be glad there was someone willing to do this for him; another willing member of the army Mary Coggins seem to have conjured from thin air in her quest to give him back his life. But he hated it; the thought of it mortified him; having to let some stranger empty his bag, watch their face wrinkle in disgust, know they may need to be as intimate as...as intimate as anyone could be with him if he had an accident while he was here.

He couldn't put off the meeting any longer; the door to the accounts department opened as he approached. It was a much smaller office, only four people occupying the desks.

"Right ladies," she said pushing her chair back from her desk as she saw Jackson enter. "I'm away for an extra long coffee break with this young man. She stood as Jackson reversed his chair out of the office. "Now we have a choice," she said once they were in the reception area again. "There is a staff canteen on the floor below that caters for all the businesses in the building; decent enough but it gets busy. Or there is a Starbucks on the ground floor. Which do you fancy?"

In the end, they settled for Starbucks, finding a corner where Jackson could park and Mrs Maplethorpe could sit close enough to keep their conversation private. It took a few minutes until they were settled; Jackson directing her to a mug in the backpack on the chair which fitted securely in the holder attachment, until they had their coffee, until he had declined a cake.

"It's quite an awkward situation this, isn't it? For both of us," she began as she sipped her coffee. "You must feel that you have no privacy anymore."

"My mind's my own," replied Jackson, rather wistfully. "I just close my eyes, try to ignore whatever..." he let the sentence trail away.

"Perhaps I should tell you a little about myself, Jackson," she said, seeing the sadness enter his eyes, wanting to distract him. I'm married, my husband's a policeman; we've got five boys, the oldest is thirty-four, the youngest 17, and am onto grandchildren now," she paused. "This is the bit where you're supposed to say I don't look old enough," she smiled.

"Why Mrs Maplethorpe, you don't look old enough!" said Jackson, dragging himself into the spirit of the teasing.

"Um, I'll give you six out of ten for sincerity; we'll need to practice," she smiled at him, wishing their conversation could all be light hearted banter. "And call me Alice," she continued. "Jackson, we need to work out a plan, a strategy. As I understand it, you have no way of knowing when your bag needs emptied; now we can do this anyway you want, whatever is easiest for you, but I wonder if we should just arrange times to meet, probably at the disabled loo; maybe at the moment when you are doing short days, say an hour after you get here and a little before you go home?"

Jackson nodded; he knew she was being nice, knew she was being as thoughtful as she could, yet none of it made it any easier for him; but that was something she didn't need to know.

"I'll show you where they are when we go back upstairs, and we'll put my mobile number into your phone – and I'll get a note of yours - then when Russ gets you on the computers, he can put an email alert between us. So hopefully, that will cover all bases and we can always contact each other if we need to.

Jackson nodded again, "thanks Alice," he said.

"It is difficult, Jackson, I'm sure you hate every minute of this, but I'll do anything to make it as easy for you as I can," she paused, trying to read what was going through his mind. "Shall we go back then; get the first time over with?"

Jackson said nothing, couldn't trust himself to speak, he moved his chair, following Alice back to the lift, to the 4th floor, to the spacious disabled loo.

He closed his eyes as he brought his chair to a halt; at least not feeling anything he could pretend, even though it didn't stop the knowledge twisting like a knife in his imagination.

"That's done, Jackson," she said, standing. She had been aware of his closed eyes, the lines that had appeared between his eyes.

"Already," blurted out Jackson.

"Already," echoed Alice, "and we both survived."

"We did, thanks," said Jackson as he backed the chair out of the room.

"So, 2.30 then," said Alice. "I'll meet you just down the corridor there?"

"It's a date," smiled Jackson, glad it was over, telling himself, trying to convince himself, that the thought of it was worse than the event.

He went back to the main office, unsure what he should be doing, but Russ had been watching, waiting for his return and whisked him away around the open plan office, introducing him to everyone

"I'll never remember everyone's names," said Jackson, his head buzzing.

"Course you will," laughed Russ. "C'mon, lunchtime."

"I'll just stay..." began Jackson.

"No. You won't," interrupted Russ firmly. "You'll come with us and keep us right on how to help you. You can't avoid every meal here for the next goodness knows how many years, let alone the nights out; so hit the revs and head to the lift!"

Jackson didn't argue, but turned his chair as quickly as he could, he didn't want anyone to see the wave of emotion that swept over him, that was visible in the sharp flood that filled his eyes; rapidly blinked away.

Three o' clock came, sooner than Jackson ever believed possible. He had survived the indignities, multiplied in his head by the unfamiliarity of the situation, of meeting new people and needing their help, using them.

The phone rang at Russ's desk, answering it; he scribbled on a notepad in front of him but said little.

Turning to Jackson, "That was reception, John's here for you," he said. "Who's John, and where is it you stay anyway?"

"Emmerdale," replied Jackson, "and John's from Yorkshire Motorbility; takes me around just now."

"Just now?" questioned Russ, walking beside Jackson's chair as he headed towards the door.

"They're organising a car for me; then I'll need mum, Joe or Aaron to ferry me about," replied Jackson.

"Ummm, right," mused Russ; distracted for a moment as they paused, waiting for the lift to come up. "Right Wheels, we'll see you Thursday then."

Jackson laughed; it was the third time Russ had called him by the nickname; it was good to find he didn't mind.

...

"Can I just have a couple of hours in bed, Aaron, I'm shattered. Then I'll tell you all about it."

"Yeah, okay, I'll pop you in. D'you want me to..."

"Alone just now," smiled Jackson. He knew Aaron was desperate to hear all about his day, and he wanted to tell him; but he was far more tired than he had expected, had almost slept as John drove him home. A couple of hours sleep and they could enjoy the evening together.

"Wake me about six," said Jackson after Aaron had slipped his trousers off, had made him comfortable on top of the covers, a bright fleecy blanket over him. "Away to the Woolie or something."

"Nah, I've got some stuff to finish at the garage, then I'll come back and have some tea ready for you; anything you fancy?"

"Surprise me," answered Jackson.

"Okay, but don't complain if it's beans on toast."

"No beans," exclaimed Jackson, lifting his head a little as Aaron leant over him, kissed him, left his lips tingling.

Giving his habitual final rattle at the safety sides, even with the bigger bed, he always made sure both were in place when Jackson was in bed alone; Aaron gave a final wave and slipped out of the house. Now that Jackson was home, that he had seen with his own eyes that he was safe, not distressed by his day; he could wait to hear the details.

He worked at the garage for an hour, perhaps a little longer, before heading back to Dale Head. Looking in at Jackson he was glad to see him sleeping peacefully; it gave him time. Wandering into the kitchen, he found a note from Hazel; she wouldn't be in until later. Even better; he enjoyed the evenings when they weren't interrupted by Hazel's understandable but suffocating concern.

He showered; standing under the hot, cascading water, feeling the tensions of the day being washed out of him. His body had been in the garage all day; his head, his heart, had been with Jackson, wondering, worrying, anxious to see him safe home, glad that he could take the first, tentative steps into his new life. Pulling on clean clothes, he returned to the bedroom.

Jackson was still soundly sleeping as Aaron had positioned him, cocooned by pillows, cradled on his side. Carefully, gently, Aaron removed the pillow in front of him, then slid into the bed beside him, curling his body to take the place of the absent pillow.

He must have dozed, although he hadn't meant to; gentle kisses at his neck woke him; the soft nuzzling of Jackson's lips, his teeth tenderly grazing the sensitive skin between his neck and shoulder.

"My arms are around you, holding you," murmured Jackson. "My fingers have eased their way under your tee shirt; I'm touching your chest, running one finger slowly round your left nipple; I can feel it getting harder, growing at my touch."

Aaron kept his eyes closed, not wanting to break the spell that Jackson was weaving around him as his whispered words continued drawing pictures in his head.

"I can feel you," he said quietly, "holding me tightly. Your caress is arousing me; is that what you're meaning to do, cos you're doing it; you're turning me on."

"Oh yes," replied Jackson quietly. "That's exactly what I am meaning to do; I love knowing I can still make you hard."

"Ah Jackson," groaned Aaron, "I'm sorry, I need to..."

"It's, okay," said Jackson, understanding. "Just do what you need to; but can you put my hand there first; I mean really."

Aaron slid onto his back, looking Jackson in the eyes since the first time he had crept into bed beside him. Reaching out, marvelling that they were once again exploring a physical relationship, he lifted Jackson's hand, placed it to his groin. Curling his fingers over Jackson's; he smiled gently.

"You're holding me, Jackson; your fingers are wrapped round my hard cock; it feels so good, having them there."

"Can you keep them there? While you... If it's not too awkward," pleaded Jackson breathlessly, his eyes closed now.

"Of course," gasped Aaron, starting the rapid movements that quickly brought him to release.

Groaning as he came over their linked fingers; for a moment, Aaron didn't pull them free, but turned towards Jackson, burying his face in Jackson's shoulder letting his breathing return to near normal.

Lifting their hands together, Aaron brought them to his lips, letting his tongue flick briefly over Jackson's fingers, tasting himself; watching Jackson.

"Do you want to?" he whispered, offering his own fingers to Jackson; keeping them still as Jackson passed the tip of him tongue over them, closed his lips round one finger.

His eyes closed now; Aaron could feel Jackson's tongue, his teeth, against his finger; knowing that Jackson could feel what he was doing, stirred his heart, sent a thrill through his groin, gently stirred his cock again.

Releasing his finger, Jackson moved his head forward, reaching for Aaron's mouth, kissing him, letting his tongue push gently between Aaron's lips, explore, dance, fight and share.

Later, stirring against Jackson, Aaron stretched.

"Do you fancy tea in bed or do you want to get up?" he asked.

"What have you made?"

"Nothing yet," admitted Aaron, smiling. "Kind of got distracted."

"By me?" asked Jackson, suddenly hesitant.

"Course by you," smiled Aaron, "who else?"

Jackson shook his head, unexpected emotion flooding through him; he bit the inside of his lip. Every time, every time Aaron said something like that; something that meant he still wanted to be with him, Jackson struggled. Struggled to answer the question that constantly buzzed about in his head; why? He knew what Aaron's answer would be if he asked; but he didn't want to ask, he didn't want to be told; he needed to be shown, he needed to believe. Yet Aaron showed him so much; belief was the problem; his problem.

"I'm not really hungry anyway," said Jackson. "Still feeding on adrenaline after today."

"It was okay then?" asked Aaron. "Was thinking about you all day."

"It was okay," replied Jackson, speaking slowly as though the significance of the day was only just reaching his understanding. "It was more than okay; it was terrifying and exciting butit felt good, y'know."

"Will it be alright, will you manage it, do you think?"

Jackson looked at him, lying in the bed beside him; concern, questions, etched on his face. He had been through so much over the last few months; times Jackson didn't even remember, watching him lying unconscious in the hospital bed, not knowing if he would ever wake from his coma. Coming back faithfully, even when Jackson tried to push him away; putting up with his moods, his depression; the day he asked them to end it all.

"D'you know, I think it will," replied Jackson smiling, almost shyly, at him. "They seem a sound bunch of folk, and helpful; very helpful. It's kind of exciting…and it's so strange to feel that way again…like this." He nodded vaguely towards his still body.

Aaron looked at him. "This is just the beginning, Jackson; who knows where it could lead you."

…..

The sat for a while under the sheltered veranda of the cricket pavilion, comfortable in each other's company; watching the rain drizzling down; waiting for the shower to pass before slowly making their way back to Dale Head.

"It's made a difference," said Aaron, thinking aloud.

"What has?" asked Jackson, wondering what he meant.

"Four years," replied Aaron, as they rounded the corner by the church. "Four years ago, who'd have thought you'd have got the maths grades you needed, now you've got your degree and are half way to becoming an architect. And you've even designed your first building!" Aaron nodded towards Dale Head as they approached the house.

"Hardly a building," contradicted Jackson.

"Well, extension then, sun porch, your office, whatever you want to call it!"

"That was Chris's idea of work experience."

"Yeah, maybe, but it was after you weren't well, then had that wobble; didn't think you could carry on studying. It was to show you what you could do."

Jackson said nothing; he didn't like to think of that time, he had been ill, although it hadn't been serious; it was the return of the black mood in the few months following it that haunted him.

"And it did," continued Aaron. "You loved every complicated bit of computerised technical what not, learning from the guys at Stoddart & Chambers."

"And I hated every minute watching it being built," countered Jackson quietly. "Knowing I could never use my own two hands to build anything again." Even now, even four years after his accident, an edge of bitterness, of regret, coloured his voice.

"I'm sorry." Jackson moved his head; let his chair come to a halt, waiting as Aaron crouched in front of him before saying any more. "I was just having a moment."

"I know," said Aaron, "it's okay." He put his hand to Jackson's leg, knowing he couldn't feel it, knowing he would see the comfort and understand.

"And you're right, it was great designing the sun porch, watching the building grow on the computer, was as exciting as making it grow with every brick, just different. It was difficult just watching…not being able to…"

"I know," interrupted Aaron. "But I know too that in another four years time, you are going to be designing the most magical, inspirational buildings and will be far too busy to watch any brick being laid."

Jackson smiled at him. "Maybe you're right; least nothing else will be on my own doorstep."

"Course I'm right," grinned Aaron, standing, kissing him. "Although your mum has muttered about wanting a larger kitchen once or twice…"

"I'll be on holiday then," said Jackson, "whenever it gets built."

"Me too," said Aaron, still smiling. "C'mon, we need to get back, get washed and changed. We're going out tonight."

"Oh I don't know, I'm a bit tired," said Jackson, prevaricating. "Where"

"Woolie. There's a party on apparently."

"What for?" asked Jackson as they arrived back at Dale Head.

Aaron looked at him. "For a clever sod, you can be a daft git sometimes; you, ya div. Who'd you think?"

"Oh Aaron, I don't know…" Jackson let the sentence trail away unfinished.

"Russ arranged it with me ages ago; half Stoddart & Chambers will be there; and everyone from the village."

"But why?"

"Doh! Pass exams; have a party," replied Aaron, pulling a face.

"But you didn't know I'd pass," persisted Jackson,

"Jackson! It's you! Of course we knew you'd pass. Now get in the house and get ready to party. Though we've got something else to celebrate tonight too, haven't we," he smiled, suddenly shy. "If you still want me?"

"Of course I want you," replied Jackson. "I've always wanted you. How soon do we have to be ready for this party?"

"Not too soon," smiled Aaron. "We've got the whole evening; the whole of our lives, ahead of us."

"Time for a private celebration of our own first?" Jackson asked. "Bare naked."

Aaron looked in to the dark, luscious, lust filled pools of his eyes; he smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"What do you want to wear?" asked Aaron, liberally spraying his naked body with deodorant, before pulling a white tee shirt over his head, rummaging in a draw for boxers, dragging two clean pairs out.

"Black tee, that new dark purple check shirt," Jackson said, watching Aaron dressing in front of him. "Can you be bothered with my black jeans? Trackkies will do if not though."

"Course I can be bothered with your jeans; it's your night, you gotta look smart."

"Well just don't throw me around like a rag doll like you did last time then," said Jackson, pretending to grumble.

"You're lucky I don't throw you round like a blow up doll," smirked Aaron, fastening his own, blue, jeans.

Jackson stuck his tongue out at Aaron. "Don't come near me with that stuff, it makes me sneeze" he said quickly as Aaron picking up the deodorant again, came towards him. "I like the stick."

"Just have this for now," said Aaron, jumping onto the bed, kneeling astride Jackson's legs, aiming the spray across his chest before lifting each arm. He eased the covers lower, spraying quickly across Jackson's hips.

"Get off!" cried Jackson.

"We can't go out smelling of sex and there's no time to shower, so put up and shut up," said Aaron firmly, leaning forward, kissing his protests from his lips. "And don't grin like that when we're out," said Aaron as he pulled back, "that so says you've had and been had!"

Unable to stop himself though, he grinned back at Jackson; it worked for them, he didn't care what other people thought, and he knew over the years Paddy, Chas, Adam even, had wondered how they managed..., had tried to talk to him, to tell him to look elsewhere for... He had said little, looked scornfully at them; they didn't understand, couldn't understand; they didn't have the imagination; they didn't need it. He and Jackson needed it, needed their imaginations as well as lust, as well as desire...and they had it...in spade loads!

Quickly, confidently, Aaron moved Jackson, pulling his tee shirt over his head, easing his arms through the sleeves. Pulling the covers from Jackson, he put his legs first into his boxers, then his jeans, rolling him from side to side, easing them up, little by little, carefully avoiding the bag now secured to his leg, watching that nothing caught on it as he eased the clothes past.

"Will I just carry you down the stairs?"asked Aaron, once they were both dressed.

"Okay, but not over your shoulder," agreed Jackson.

"Why not?" asked Aaron, leaning over the bed to move him to the edge.

"Because when you do it that way, you always fondle my arse."

"That's because you've got such a cute arse," teased Aaron. "How d'you know anyway?"

"Because I know you, Livsey!" replied Jackson. "Besides, my eyes still work and I've seen you in the mirror!"

"Spoil sport! You ready?"

With his nodded consent, Aaron bent, easily scooped Jackson from the bed into his arms and carefully, oh so carefully, made his way down the short, steep staircase; setting him gently in his chair at the bottom.

"Leather?" asked Aaron, his hand already reaching to the hanger holding Jackson's favourite jacket suspended from the hooks.

"Go for it!" said Jackson. "What are you putting on?"

Aaron pulled another jacket from the hooks, held it up questioningly.

"That's mine!" exclaimed Jackson.

"But it looks so much better on me," retorted Aaron, pulling a face at Jackson as he slipped it on. Putting Jackson's jacket on him, he fastened the seatbelt on the chair, tugging it gently, checking it was fastened properly. "You ready then?" he asked.

"Are there really folk from Stoddart & Chambers coming?" asked Jackson as he manoeuvred his chair out of the door, down the ramp.

"Yeah, I told you," said Aaron impatiently as he walked beside Jackson's chair towards the Woolie. "Russ text me about a week ago, wanting to organise some way to celebrate. We thought about going out in Leeds, but decided it was easier if they came here. Sorted."

Aaron walked slowly, at the pace of Jackson's chair; it wasn't far from Dale Head to the Woolie, only three cottages to pass, but there was a slight incline, working against them.

It wasn't only the incline slowing them; Jackson could have pressed his head harder against the controls on his headrest; but he didn't. Part of him didn't want to get there, to be the centre of attention; part of him wanted a quiet night with Aaron, most of him hadn't wanted to get out of their bed, the beginnings of a smile, of a memory, curled his lip. Aaron had said this was his night, his celebration, but he was there for Aaron; there because Aaron had done so much for him, been so much for him, there because he had done it all for Aaron. Everything was Aaron, always.

His smile broadened, his degree wasn't the only celebration; today was the day they had agreed to legalise their relationship. Soon they would have legal rights over each other; over their lives, their death if anything...he pushed the though from his mind; it was still too close to home. Instead he thought of the ring, safely back in its box now, there until he went shopping with Aaron for its twin, its companion; there until he slid it onto Aaron finger...with his teeth if he had to...because no one else was going to do it for him.

There was a ramp now, into the Woolie; at first it had been homemade, of rough wood, now it was solid, smooth concrete, inelegant but easy for Jackson to navigate in his chair. They could hear the noise from the pub, even as they paused for a moment on the threshold; the sound of voices, laughing above the music. Noisier than usual, livelier; glancing down at Jackson, Aaron raised his eyebrows, asking a question without words; was he ready to go in?

"Right! C'mon," said Jackson, as though a decision was made. "Let's face the lot of them!" As Aaron opened the door for him, a wave of noise reached out, engulfed them, welcomed them.

Watching for them, sweeping majestically forwards to greet them, Hazel swooped towards them, clearing a path for Jackson to the table nearest the bar where two bottles of lager already waited for them, a straw bobbing in one. Quickly Aaron secured the bottle in the holder attached to Jackson's chair; even as he did so, people were coming to congratulate Jackson; faces he recognised from Stoddart & Chambers, some he knew, Russ, with his wife Kirsty, Aiden, Mrs Maplethorpe, many he didn't know so well, swirling round Jackson, taking him into their midst.

Leaning against the bar, thirstily drinking from his bottle, Aaron smiled to himself; he enjoyed seeing Jackson surrounded by his other world, seeing his worlds mingling, part of both, happy, confident, accepted.

Adam slid between bodies at the bar to stand beside Aaron. "Well? Did you ask him?"

"Sort of," replied Aaron giving a half laugh. "He asked me too, and had a ring!"

"Sound!" exclaimed Adam, thumping him on the back. "You set the date yet?"

"No," Aaron said, "not been time yet." Even as he spoke, he struggled to keep in check the smile broadly spreading across his face, fuelled by recent memories.

"What does Paddy say? And Hazel?" asked Adam. "And your mum!" he added, almost gasping as the thrill of her possibly explosive reaction to the news dawned on him.

Looking across the crowded bar, Aaron could see the top of Paddy's head, next to the bobbing head of Marlon, never still. Intermittently, he could hear the shrill tones of his mother hiding somewhere in the crowd

"Dunno," said Aaron. "Haven't told them yet."

Adam pulled a face. "Paddy will be alright, and Hazel. Probably. But Chas?" he grimaced.

Aaron shrugged; he really didn't care what the oldies thought. They had shown them; the last four years had shown them; the time for worrying about them was long gone; all they had to do now was be happy for them. When they told them.

"Aaron!"

Behind him the familiar, firm, voice rang out. Turning, he saw Mary Coggins weaving her way through the milling throng towards him. Closing the distance between them, he hugged her, real warmth in his greeting.

"Mary! Thanks for coming!"

"You think I'd miss this party!" she exclaimed. "He's done so well, both of you have; I'm proud of you both." She looked directly up into his eyes, nodding to emphasise her words, both hands rubbing his arms in her delight for them. "Where is he anyway?" she asked.

"He went off with Russ and Kirsty when we came in," said Aaron, squinting over the heads of the full pub, looking for the space created by Jackson's chair. "There!" he said, spotting him, pointing. "What are you drinking, Mary? You go over, I'll get them in."

Moving through the crowded pub, Mary made her way towards Jackson, to the people surrounding his chair.

Seeing her, Jackson smiled, accepted the kiss of greeting she bestowed upon him.

"I'll go and help Aaron with the drinks, get a round in," said Russ, beginning to move away, nodding to his wife to stay; that he would be back soon.

For a few minutes, Jackson and Mary chatted easily; she didn't visit so often these days; she didn't need to, but Jackson knew he could always phone her, always ask for her ideas, her help. He had been pleased, surprised, delighted, to see her here; so many people; it was hard to get his head round the idea they were all here, at Aaron and Russ's instigation, and all because he had written a few essays; passed a few exams.

A few minutes passed, ten minutes perhaps; realising then, that Aaron hadn't returned with their drinks, Jackson slowly turned his chair, began inching his way through the loitering bodies. Suddenly there was a gap, the swirl of moving bodies momentarily drew apart giving him a clear view to the bar, a clear view to Aaron.

Of Aaron, engrossed in conversation with Russ; with John from Yorkshire Motorbility; with Cain. Jackson watched them for a moment, could see the excitement, the animation in their faces; he moved slowly towards them.

Catching sight of him, Russ turned.

"Sorry Wheels!" he exclaimed. "Got caught up in talking. Here!" Quickly he swapped the empty bottle for a full bottle of lager.

Jackson looked at Aaron, noticing a sight flush was creeping up his face, as though he had been caught; as though he had caught him. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's nothing. Later. Just leave it, eh?" he said, flustered.

Jackson was about to ask more, his curiosity roused, when the bell behind the bar rang loudly; the bell that usually called time was now calling the room to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have you attention for a moment!" Chris Stoddart's voice rang out, filling the room.

Unaware that he had been in the bar at all, from his position, Jackson couldn't even see Chris. Looking at Aaron, catching his eye, edging his head to one side, bringing Aaron closer, he whispered a question, asking if Aaron knew he was going to be at the party.

"Course!" replied Aaron quietly, anything else he was going to say cut off as Chris called Jackson's name.

By some mysterious alchemy, the aimlessly moving bodies parted leaving a clear path between Jackson and Chris. Seeing him, Chris beckoned to him, calling him over.

"I won't embarrass you too much, Jackson," he began, "but this is a great day for you, and a proud day for all of us who have see the hard work you have put in; the obstacles you have overcome. We know it hasn't always been easy; the work itself; the studying; you own circumstances and health..."

Listening to the man standing beside him, his mentor, his inspiration; Jackson's mind drifted back, almost two years, remembering.

...

He'd felt a bit off at work, nothing specific, nothing he could put his finger on, figuratively speaking. He put it down to tiredness, stress; the forthcoming maths exam was looming over him, a dark, malevolent presence, haunting him, filling him with the dread, the certainty, that however many times Caitlin Stoddart went over it with him, he couldn't do it; he didn't understand.

At home, he'd refused tea; complaining of a headache, he'd asked Aaron to put him straight to bed, needing to doze. To doze, to slip away, that evening he was unknowingly releasing his hold on life, just a little.

He was sleeping when Aaron slipped into bed beside him. Leaning over to kiss him, just gently, not meaning to wake him; Aaron could feel the heat radiating from him, even before his lips touched Jackson's body.

Reaching his hand out, tentatively, almost scared to feel, to confirm what he already dreaded; his fingers found Jackson's shoulder, pulling back in expected surprise; reaching out again, drawing his hand across Jackson's brow, burning as he touched.

"Jackson! Jackson!" Aaron whispered urgently, both hands now to his shoulders, shaking him gently. No response; pulling the covers further back, running his hands over his burning body, feeling the heat even through his tee shirt, his boxers.

"Jackson!" Shaking him harder, apprehension, anxiety rushing through him, Aaron fought to keep the panic that threatened to overwhelm him under control.

"Hazel, Hazel!" he yelled, sliding off the bed in one fluid movement. "There's something wrong with Jackson!"

Even as she came into the bedroom, his hands were fumbling with his phone.

"What's the matter," she said, still befuddled with sleep. "What's wrong with him? You phoning NHS Direct?"

"I'm phoning an ambulance," said Aaron, punching in the triple nines with shaking fingers. "He's burning up, Hazel, and I can't get him to wake up. Hello?" he said as his call was answered. Turning away from Hazel, from Jackson's still, silent body, Aaron responded to the questions put to him from the other end of the phone."

"They're on their way," he said minutes later, having struggled to control his irritation at the endless, relentless questions, trying to believe their assurances that the ambulance was on its way, the questions were not delaying help arriving.

Waiting was endless, every second a minute, every minute an hour; Aaron paced, but hated being as far away as the other side of the room from Jackson. He sat on the bed, stroking the dampening curls back from Jackson's forehead, irrationally thinking he needed a haircut; he didn't usually like his hair getting long enough to curl.

At the window, Hazel watched, ready to open the door at the first sound of two tones ripping through the peace of the night.

In the end there were no raucous two tones, only a blue light, flashing on, flashing off, as they pulled up in front of Dale Head.

Flinging open the front door, even before the ambulance drew to a halt, Hazel waved the two paramedics in to the house.

"He's in here," she cried, standing back as they rushed quickly past her.

"I'm Clive," said the first, older, man. Dropping his backpack to the floor, he left it to his colleague to open, turning to Jackson, he cast a practiced eye over him.

"Dan," said the second, younger man, lifting a small monitor from his backpack, passing the sticky electrodes to Clive, leads already attached.

"We'll just pop a monitor on, get a line in, give him some fluids first, before we head off," said Clive as he worked. "Has he been unwell recently, complaining of..." he paused, obviously not quite sure what his patient might complain of feeling.

"He wasn't great tonight, said he had a headache when he came in from work," replied Aaron quickly.

"Did he take anything for it?" questioned Dan.

"I _gave_ him a couple of paracetamol," said Aaron pointedly.

"Yeah...sorry..."said Dan awkwardly. "Habit." He lifted Jackson's arm, gripping his upper arm firmly, steadily.

"Nah, you're fine," said Aaron apologetically. "What do you think is wrong with him?"

"Wouldn't like to say at this stage," said Clive, speaking slowly, deliberately as he eased a large gauge cannula into the bulging vein at Jackson's elbow. "Okay, it's in; let go Dan and pass me the line." He quickly attached the drip, pushing the roller high on the switch, letting the saline flow fast into Jackson's veins. Securing the cannula with a plastic dressing, he quickly bandaged the arm flat against a small board.

"Get the stretcher in Dan," Clive instructed. Turning to Hazel and Aaron, standing close together, helpless, "we'll head for Hotton General first," he said. "But we'll radio ahead and might be diverted to Leeds, giving his circumstances. Is one of you coming with him?"

In unison, Aaron and Hazel's voices chimed together, each urging the other to go in the ambulance.

"No," said Hazel firmly. "You go in the ambulance with him; it'll be you he wants to see when he wakes up. I'll gather a few bits for him, and get Paddy or Bob to give me a lift to the hospital." She looked at Aaron, tears threatening to overflow from her eyes; she couldn't believe it, believe that so suddenly, so unexpectedly, they would be spending the night, who knew how many nights, at the hospital, at Jackson's bedside, again.

With little fuss, with expertise, Jackson was quickly moved on to the stretcher, into the ambulance.

"I'll phone you as soon as I can," Aaron called to Hazel, "when I know where we're going," he added, the closing doors almost cutting off his words. He sat as close as he could to Jackson, conscious though of Clive working, of getting in his way as he checked him, watched the monitor, jotted down numbers; numbers! He couldn't even begin to guess their significance.

"It's Leeds, Clive," Dan called back a minute or two later, "Control have just confirmed."

"Right, blues and twos from the Hotton by-pass in, then." Clive said. "It won't be long before we're there, son," he added, turning to Aaron, "be plenty of time to phone his mum while we unload him," he smiled, hoping to reassure the lad, having read the fear in his eyes.

Quicker than Aaron expected, the ambulance pulled up outside the A&E entrance of the huge city hospital. Leaping out as soon as the rear doors were opened, standing back, he rapidly scrolled through his contact list, hitting dial as he reached Hazel's number. Quickly giving her the only information she needed; he was following the stretcher through the automatic doors even as he ended the call.

Almost trotting to keep up with the swift pace set by the paramedics as they entered the department, following them towards the Resus Room; Aaron suddenly felt two hands on his shoulders, drawing him to a halt, steering him away from the doors swinging closed behind the trolley carrying Jackson from his reach.

"Just give them a few minutes," a quiet, kindly voice said in his ear, "let them see what's going on. You come and give us a few details; that's the best way you can help just now."

Aaron turned to face the speaker; a nurse, her comfortably large body encased in shapeless, pale blue scrubs that might have been her armour against the world; her cheery, dumpling face surrounded by a helmet of gray hair. She led him towards a long bench seat; from it, he could see the doors leading into the Resus Room, could see the shadowy movement beyond, yet knew nothing, could gain no idea of what was happening to Jackson.

"I'm Sister Wigmore; you came in with..." she hesitated, looking at the notes in her hands, "Jackson Walsh, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Aaron nodded, adding nothing more.

"And you are?" asked Sister Wigmore.

"Aaron. Aaron Livsey. His boyfriend."

"Are you his next of kin?" she asked gently.

Aaron shook his head. "His mum's on her way," he said.

"But you can give me his date of birth; his address? How long he's been tetraplegic?" She rattled off a list of questions, noting Aaron's answers on the admission sheet balanced on her knee.

"I'll go and see how they are getting on; if there is anything they can tell you yet."

Watching her walk away, Aaron put his hands to his face, pressing his fingers hard against his eyes, relishing the discomfort; letting it push against the thoughts clamouring for ascendency in his mind. It was a different hospital, a different situation, but it all felt so horribly, dreadfully familiar. And he knew there were people who had said then, it might have been better if Jackson had died in the crash. God! Once or twice that traitorous thought had strayed into his own mind; and then in the months following, Jackson had been so down, so depressed, beyond their understanding almost, until he had begged them to help him end his life. But that was then; over two years ago; things had changed, Jackson had changed; his life was good, full of promise. It couldn't be now; this couldn't be the time for him to die; not after going through so much.

Despite his fingers, tears pricked behind his eyelids, squeezed out, began to trickle down his face; dashing them away, he stood, paced, if he moved quickly enough, maybe he could chase the thoughts, the fear, from his head.

Behind him, the door into the department swung open, sighed shut.

"Aaron!" Hazel's voice made him turn; coming towards him, her face a picture of anguish that reflected his own, he was glad, even so, to see her. Following her, the large, dependable bulk of Paddy; concern clouding his eyes; concern for both of them. Closing the distance between himself and Aaron, he touched his hand to Aaron's shoulder, trying to reassure him.

"Where is he? Have they said anything, told you anything?" questioned Hazel.

Aaron shook his head. "He's through there; there was a nurse here, a sister, asking me questions."

"Questions? What sort of questions?" demanded Hazel.

"His date of birth, how long since the accident," replied Aaron impatiently, "those sort of questions!"

"Well when are they going to tell us anything?" said Hazel anxiously.

"I'm sure they will," said Paddy, trying to reassure both of them, "as soon as they know anything."

"It's the waiting;" exclaimed Hazel. "I hate the waiting!"

Her approach was quieter that her bulk should have made possible; she had a second, two seconds, advantage, surveying the anxious trio in front of her.

"Sister!" exclaimed Aaron, noticing her first. "What's happening? This is Jackson's mum."

"Sister Wigmore," she said, introducing herself, holding her hand out to shake Hazel's. "The doctor will be out in a few minutes; he'll be able to tell you about Jackson." Looking at them, their anxiety so palpable, she wondered if she should say anything; warn them. Biting her tongue to silence, she said nothing.

The lengthening silence was interrupted; at last the doctor emerged from the Resus Room, his face a mask, telling them nothing.

"Mrs Walsh?" he said, looking at Hazel. "I'm Dr Churchill, consultant physician."

"Yes! Yes!" she said impatiently, talking over him, not bothering to correct him.

"Jackson has a UTI; a urinary tract infection," he continued.

"But...? I don't understand...? He shouldn't be unconscious like that, should he?" bumbled Hazel in confusion. "We should have been able to wake him up. You can just give him antibiotics, right?"

"We are giving him antibiotics, intravenously. But Mrs Walsh, you need to understand; Jackson is seriously ill. His condition, his tetraplegia, compromises him," he paused, seeing the blank faces in front of him.

"This has been brewing, building up in Jackson's body for some time, over a number of days; but because he has no feeling, he hasn't felt the symptoms that would alert you or me. He hasn't been aware of any pain or burning sensation when he's passed urine; of needing to go more frequently. He keeps well hydrated, so there has been no significant smell to warn his carers. Consequently, the infection has had chance to get a grip of his body. As I said, we are giving him high doses of intravenous antibiotics, we'll give him something to try to get his temperature down, but the next twenty-four, forty-eight hours are critical."

"When you say 'critical'," questioned Hazel slowly, choosing her words with care. "Just how critical do you mean? He couldn't ..." she stopped, unable to say the darkest words.

"That would be the very worst case outcome for Jackson," replied Dr Churchill smoothly. "At this stage, I can't say anything for certain; we just have to hope that the antibiotics work before infection overwhelms Jackson's vital systems."

"Can we see him?" asked Aaron.

"Just for a minute or two; we're going to move him up to the Medical High Dependency Unit."

Time slowed down as Aaron followed Hazel and Dr Churchill into the inner sanctum of the Resus Room; his legs, his feet moved slowly, heavily, as though he was wading through sand; everything he passed blurring into insignificance. He could only focus on one thing, his universe became one thing, his universe became the narrow trolley on which his lover was lying.

He seemed so small, so pale, the white of the sheet covering him, draining any colour from his face; from the small part of his face that wasn't covered by the oxygen mask. Monitors beeped, their colourful wires linking the machine to Jackson's chest; both arms had drips feeding them.

Hazel stopped before she reached the trolley, her hands suddenly clamped to her lips, struggling to control the tears threatening to overwhelm her.

Aaron went close to the trolley, stood near Jackson's head. Carefully he reached over the safety bars, slid his hand along the side of Jackson's face, letting his fingers run around his ear, feeling its ridges, gently pulling at the soft skin of the lobe. Carefully he avoided the tubes and wires, yet he needed to touch him, touch him where some knowledge, some sensation of that touch might penetrate the depths of his unconsciousness.

He might have been alone with him for all the notice he took of the silent figures moving about the room, watching the monitors, checking the drips. But soon, all too soon, the figures moved towards him, solidified into figures of authority, of control who demanded his removal as they did...whatever it was they did.

"Get a coffee," said Sister Wigmore kindly; leading them out of the room. "The dining room is open all night. Give us fifteen, twenty minutes, to get him upstairs and settled, then you'll be able to stay for a while." She gave them directions to the dining room and to the Medical High Dependency Unit.

They found their way to the dining room, a few minutes later they sat, silently nursing strong mugs of coffee.

"I don't know if I can do this again," whispered Hazel quietly, shaking her head. "The hospital, the waiting, the worry," she bit her lip, closed her eyes, silencing herself, shutting the world out.

"Of course you can. For Jackson," Paddy said firmly, reassuringly.

"He'll be fine, Hazel," said Aaron urgently, steepling his fingers at his lips. "He's got to be... the antibiotics; they'll work, you'll see."

"And he's in the best place," said Paddy, still trying to find something positive to say, trying to keep Aaron and Hazel's spirits up. "You might not have realised he was so ill until the morning, might have missed hours of antibiotics."

"That's not helping, Paddy," snapped Aaron. "Sorry," he muttered quickly, "I'm sorry."

Paddy made a tiny explosive noise, a dismissive noise. "It's fine, don't worry," he mumbled.

He looked better in the bed, still shrunken, still a shadow of himself, but at least more comfortable, settled; he might just have been sleeping.

There was nothing they could do, except sit, wait, watch the nurses, the doctor, silently moving about the unit; coming into the Jackson's room, constantly observant, wary of change.

The hours ticked by; 2am, 3am, 4am, more coffee, brief dozes, no news, no change.

"I'm going to speak to the doctor," announced Hazel.

"They won't tell you anything new," said Paddy, stirring.

"I want to know if it's safe to go home; to get a few hours proper sleep. I'm no good to him here anyway," said Hazel, walking out of the door.

"S'pose you won't be leaving?" asked Paddy

Aaron shook his head, "I'm staying. Will you let Cain know?"

"Sure," Paddy stood, stretched. "Phone if there is any change; if you need anything."

Aaron nodded, but anything he was going to say died on his lips as Hazel came back into the room.

"They say he's stable, they're not expecting any changes in the next few hours and will phone if anything does happen." She sounded exhausted, drained with bone-numbing weariness. "Paddy, can you take me home?" She turned to him, the lines of fatigue clear on her face. "Aaron..." she stopped, just resting her hand on his shoulder for a second, hoping he understood.

Minutes later, he was alone in the room with Jackson; he stood, stretched, clasped his hands behind his head; let his body tense, relax. Pacing across the small space, he looked out of the window; they were on the 5th floor; the view across the sleeping city would have been beautiful, intriguing, on any other morning. Dawn was breaking but the orange luminescence of a thousand street lights still illuminated the roads, the gradually waking lives below.

Pulling the chair Hazel had been using, the largest, softest, chair, closer to the head of the bed, as close as he could get without disturbing the lines, the wires, Aaron made himself comfortable as best he could. Even with the gradually lightening sky, the room was still dim, still needing the gentle glow of the night light to let him see Jackson, watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, gaining reassurance from the rhythmical movement.

He hadn't meant to doze again, yet he must have done, some noise, some unfamiliar, yet known sound, disturbed him. Opening his eyes, rubbing them, struggling to orientate himself, that noise again; quiet, muffled, mumbled.

Jackson! It was Jackson!

Jumping up, leaning over; he could see Jackson's lips moving, hear the muttered words, words that made no sense. Briefly touching his face, a moment, a split second, he moved to the door, desperate to attract the attention of a nurse.

"He's awake!" he whispered as two nurses quickly entered the room. "He was speaking, but... " he stopped speaking as they reached Jackson's bed.

"Jackson! Jackson!" she said his name sharply. "Can you hear me Jackson!" Clenching her fist lightly, she rubbed her knuckles over his forehead, watching intently for any response, watching nothing.

For a moment, he was still, then, almost imperceptibly, his lips began to move. It was hardly more than a whisper, a random jumble of senseless words.

"It's a good sign," the nurse whispered to Aaron. "Talk to him for a while, he may be able to hear you, hear your voice. The doctor will check on him shortly."

They were alone again, there was no danger of Aaron sleeping now; from his chair he leant against the bed, resting his head on his folded arms, close to Jackson's head. Talk to him, the nurse had said; well he'd done that before, for hours and hours, murmured reassurance, every bit of gossip he could drag from the depths of his mind, the newspaper read from cover to cover, anything in the hope that his voice, his presence would penetrate the depths of Jackson's distant,comatose mind. He had done it before; he could do it again.

Slowly, he knew he didn't need to keep up a rapid river of conversation, rather a gentle meander of words; he could pause, be silent.

He was silent when it was full daylight; when the nurses came to chase him from the room while they did...whatever it was they did. He was sleeping.

Nothing changed; the day was long, flooded with worry, with familiar anxiety swirling all around them.

The day was beginning to darken, evening twilight dimming the room although the lights had not yet been switched on. His voice was so quiet, so much less than a whisper, a breath, a sigh.

"Aaron."

"Jackson! You're awake! Aaron's not here!" exclaimed Hazel. "I mean he's here, he's just gone to the loo!"

"Mum? What...?"

Even with his eyes shut, Hazel could see the puzzlement cross his face, the confusion.

"You're in hospital, Jackson, you took ill," she spoke rapidly. "I need to call the nurse. Do you understand me, Jackson?"

"Get Aaron too, mum. Please."

Waiting! Always waiting! Aaron paced up and down outside Jackson's room, the anxious churning in his stomach mirrored in the twisting of his hands in each other, his entwined fingers constantly moving, tense. He had got back from the loo to find Jackson's door firmly shut against him, to find Hazel perched on a chair, her eyes fixed on the door, her body shaking.

"He's awake, Aaron, he's back," she said. "No! You can't go in, the doctors are with him!"

"How was he? What did he say? Will they be long?" He fired questions at her, stalking toward the closed door, willing it to open, to let him see for himself.

Too long, too long it took before they emerged, two doctors a nurse, talking, conferring before finally one came towards Hazel.

"Jackson is awake, Ms Rhodes, but very tired. He has very little recollection of yesterday evening, of becoming unwell and is rather muddled. By which I mean, a natural muddle at understanding what has happened to him, rather than the confusion caused by the infection."

"Is he going to be alright?" Aaron had to ask, however much he still feared the answer.

"All I would say at this stage is that it looks like the antibiotics are beginning to do their work; but I must emphasise, it is still early days; Jackson is still very sick."

At last they could go back into the room; it seemed like nothing had changed, Jackson lay as they had left him, his eyes closed, he might still have been sleeping, might still be unconscious.

"Jackson!" Aaron reached his bedside, touched his face, was rewarded by the welcome flicker of his eyes opening.

"Aaron! I..."

"Hush," whispered Aaron, "you don't have to say anything. You're okay now, getting better."

"I'm sorry, Aaron."

"Shut up y'daft bugger, you've nothing to apologise for. Now get some sleep, I'll be here when you wake up." Aaron leant over the bed, gently kissing Jackson on the lips.

He looked across the bed, catching Hazel's eye as she settled herself in the chair.

"You should go home, get a shower, get a little sleep; you looked shattered," said Hazel.

"You should do as she says," Jackson said, his tired voice little more than a murmur. "I'll still be here when you get back."

"Take the car," Hazel rummaged in her large bag, pulling out a set of car keys. "Go carefully, and don't come back without having a good few hours rest. We'll be fine."

"I could just shower then come back…" began Aaron

"You'll be no good to him without sleep," said Hazel firmly. "Even if you sleep all night and come back tomorrow, we'll be fine. I slept until lunchtime so feel fine, and Jackson is getting better and is going to sleep all night, aren't you son?"

Jackson made a noise, a mumble, a wordless agreement.

"Well…if you're sure…" Aaron hesitated.

"I'll be fine," whispered Jackson. "See you tomorrow."

Reluctant to leave, yet knowing in his heart that Hazel was making sense, Aaron stood, looked down at Jackson; his eyes were closed. He reached out, gently touching the peaceful face, was rewarded by the faintest curl of Jackson's lips. Leaning over the bed, he kissed him again.

"Sleep tight, Jay," he whispered.

…..

He'd gone to Smithy rather than the empty Dale Head; he knew Paddy and Rhona wouldn't mind and the frantic family chaos that filled Smithy these days was a pleasant distraction. Rhona had insisted that he needed to eat something; she would cook, which was a bit of a worry although Paddy seemed to survive. Paddy had wanted to talk; to ask about Jackson, to ask about him. He had tried, really tried, but he made his excuses; he needed to be on his own

Now he stood in the shower, the hot water pounding down on his naked body; he had his eyes closed, trying to think of nothing, letting the water swallow him. He felt good. He felt like he never wanted to step out of the tumbling waterfall back into reality. Liberally rubbing shower gel over his body, his fingers scrubbing it through his cropped hair, the steam and heady aroma mingled, surrounding him, reminding him. His movements slowed, his hands beginning to caress rather than rub; to slide over his chest, slip easily across his gelled body. Lower, his hands slid across his flat belly, over his angular hips, reaching back, caressing his buttocks. With his eyes closed, he could remember what if felt like when Jackson could run his hands all over his body, delight in touching him, arousing him. With his eyes closed, he could almost imaging Jackson's hands were touching him, yet his hard body, holding him, was missing.

Still letting his hands wander over his body, his mind wander backwards in time, suddenly he was holding his hard cock. He hadn't meant to, he didn't want to, but the memories had been so vivid and so utterly painful. Even as his hands moved, relieving the tension, the water cascading over his face from the hot shower was joined by his cold salt tears, cascading down his cheeks.

Paddy had lent him a tee shirt; it swamped him, but would do and he had found a pair of trackkie bottoms still in the cupboard of his old bedroom. He lay on the bed, looking sightlessly up at the ceiling; it had been over two years since this bedroom had been his, yet Paddy still kept it for him; tonight he was glad. Without knowing, he closed his eyes.

Gently opening the bedroom door a short while later Paddy found him sleeping, curled in a tight ball, hugging himself. Pulling a blanket from the cupboard, Paddy laid it over him; he didn't stir.

It was still dark when he woke enough to glance at the LED clock. Six...he could see a six...it couldn't be after six in the morning; he hadn't meant to sleep so long!

Flinging himself from the bed, from the room, he hurtled down the stairs; grabbing his keys from the table he let himself out of Smithy, not noticing Paddy watching him from a bedroom window.

Dale Head first, he needed to dress properly; then back to the hospital; the roads still quiet enough to let the journey be a tolerable one.

Nodding a silent greeting to the nurses, he let himself into Jackson's room; Hazel smiled at him; he had expected to find her dozing.

"I meant to be back hours ago," he whispered.

"Don't worry, he's not stirred since you left," she replied, letting her gaze rest on the always still figure of her son. "I should stay until he wakes again..." began Hazel.

Aaron said nothing; he wanted to be alone with Jackson for a while, but Hazel was his mum. He leant over the bed, gently touching the side of his head, before leaning forward, letting his lips touch Jackson's for the lightest of kisses.

"Aaron." His voice was quiet, but steady.

"Hmmm! More like Prince Charming, waking Sleeping Beauty with a kiss!" muttered Hazel, almost to herself.

"You don't kiss me on the lips, mum," said Jackson, opening his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Just after seven," replied Aaron, leaning on the safety side bars, smiling down at him. "Hazel's been here all night; I'm just back."

"Did you sleep?" asked Jackson.

"I did," nodded Aaron, "I stayed over at Smithy."

"What about you, mum?"

"I dozed," Hazel said. "But I am tired; I think I'll go home for a while, get some sleep and come back this afternoon."

"Okay," said Jackson, sounding tired, his eyes closing again.

Hazel touched him briefly on the shoulder, gazing down at her son's quiet face for a moment or two. Aaron handed her the car keys, trying to smile reassuringly.

Jackson dozed again; Aaron settled himself in the chair, content to sit quietly, not wanting to be anywhere else.

The daytime routine of the ward began; the nightshift nurses were succeeded by the dayshift, those assigned to Jackson for the day came in, sent Aaron to the dining room to get his breakfast while they took Jackson for a shower; an improvement, the day before they had washed him in bed.

By the time Aaron returned to the ward, Jackson was back in bed, looking better, brighter than he had since he came into the hospital.

"He's agreed to try a little breakfast," the nurse told him, "are you alright to help him with it?"

"Course," agreed Aaron, smiling at him

He didn't manage much, just a few mouthfuls, but it was a start.

...

It wasn't a quick recovery, slow, steady but after those first, anxious hours, always in the right direction. Jackson was in hospital for three weeks; three weeks when Aaron was at his side as much as possible, at first scared to leave him in case he took unwell again, later to keep him company, to try and assuage the small, niggling worry that had begun to creep into his mind.

He wasn't sure; he couldn't pin it to anything Jackson had said, or had not said, more a growing concern, a feeling increasing with each passing day. He didn't share his thoughts with Hazel, not yet; she had enough to worry about; he wouldn't say anything, at least until he was certain.

They had brought his wheelchair into the hospital; as he was moved from the Medical High Dependency Unit, as he was able to spend more time out of bed he could at least move about the ward if he wanted. Aaron brought his computer in, hoping he would want to use the time to catch up on his studying.

And yet, he didn't seem to want; anything. His days became the same, unchanging, governed by the routine of the ward, mindless. Watching mindless television, or moving to the window, gazing at the view for a change. When the day came that the doctors decided he could go home, Aaron could see no glimmer of excitement in Jackson's eyes; he would give him a day, maybe two, to settle in, get back into his routine. But he couldn't let it go on, not now that he suspected. No, he corrected himself; he knew.

Watching Jackson back in Dale Head, watching him ignore his computer, his work, watching him ignore phone calls from his friends, his colleagues at Stoddart & Chambers, even on his first day home, Aaron decided he could wait no longer.

Cornering Hazel in the kitchen, out of Jackson's hearing, at last Aaron shared his worries.

"How d'you think he is, Hazel?" he asked, accepting the mug of coffee she handed him.

She shook her head. "I'd hoped coming home would buck him up a bit, that it was just being in hospital," she paused. "But it's not, is it?"

"No," said Aaron quietly. "I don't think it is."

For a moment, they were both silent, lost in thought.

"I'm going to phone Mary," said Aaron, unsure what else to do. He needed to talk to someone, and always, always Jackson had listened to her when he had ignored himself and Hazel.

"Do it now then," said Hazel. "We can't let him get as bad as he was before."

Jackson didn't even seem to notice Aaron coming into the room, picking up his phone, glancing at him and leaving again.

Aaron went outside, away from any chance of Jackson overhearing him and scrolled through his contact list until he found Mary Coggins' number.

She answered on the second ring.

"Mary, it's Aaron," he paused as she greeted him, asked if Jackson was still in hospital.

"He came home today, but he's depressed again, Mary. I don't know how to talk to him about it, what to do."

It was a relief to hear her voice, her practical advice; it was a relief to know that she would call round to see him before the end of the day

The distinctive knock at the door came a little after 6pm, Hazel jumped to answer it, letting Mary, and a man with her, into the house.

"I hope you haven't been watching the television ever since you came home, Jackson Walsh; you know how I feel about daytime telly!" She strode into the room, he voice brisk, business-like.

"Mary!" Jackson said, surprised to see her.

"Jackson, you know I sugar coat nothing; this is Eric Morgan, the Community Psychiatric Nurse attached to your GP's practice. Hazel and Aaron are worried about you. They are going to put the kettle on – Eric just takes his coffee black – and we are going to have a little chat." Firmly guiding Hazel and Aaron from the room, she shut the door solidly behind them.

It was nearly half an hour; half an hour of waiting, of anxious pacing, trying to keep occupied, not think, before Mary joined Hazel and Aaron standing silently together in the kitchen.

"I've left him talking to Eric," she said. "He's a decent chap, good at his job. One thing that did come out," she sipped at the coffee Hazel handed her. "He is worrying about his maths; the exam's coming up."

"I know," chimed in Aaron. "It's daft; he can do it fine."

"You know that, I know that!" said Mary. "But Jackson needs to accept that too. I just phoned Caitlin, put her on speakerphone; asked her how he had been doing before he was ill. She said he was doing just fine."

"And you didn't tell her Jackson was listening too?" questioned Aaron.

"No," drawled Mary, "naughty me. Although I did before I hung up; she just told Jackson again he was doing fine and would pass the exam. I don't know if it will make any difference to how he feels just now; that's more Eric's department than mine, but it won't have hurt."

As they waited for the door to open again, they talked; the conversation ranging far beyond Jackson, beyond Emmerdale. At last the sound of the latch opening alerted them and Eric joined them in the kitchen

"It's not too bad," he reassured them quickly. "He is depressed and I'm going to start him on some antidepressants, just for a short while. But, apart from the maths thing," he smiled, "it's mostly to do with what he sees as a regression in his quality of life; he had been getting on so well, studying, working, and suddenly he felt back where he was immediately after the accident, and he doesn't know if he can get back to where he had been."

"Give me a coffee for him, and I'll go back through," said Aaron. "Don't want him getting paranoid we're talking about him!"

Aaron took a mug for himself as well, setting it on the table as he fixed Jackson's into his holder.

"I'm sorry," murmured Jackson, not looking at him.

"Hey!" Aaron gave a shy half smile. "You can't help how you feel, but not telling us, me; that doesn't help."

Jackson looked up at him then, his dark eyes deep pools in his face; a face thinner, more weary than usual

"It just feels like it's all been for nothing." He slowly, despondently, moved his head from side to side.

"Now that's no way to talk, Jackson," said Mary briskly, coming into the room. "I'll give you a week, no more, to enjoy daytime telly; then you are back to Stoddart & Chambers; no arguments!" she added as he opened to mouth to speak. "Just for two days a week to begin with, until you get your strength back. And you will, I promise. Oh, and Caitlin is going to tutor you at home on the other days."

Jackson opened his mouth to speak again.

"Now!" Mary abruptly cut him off, intent on having her say first. "Eric is going to be keeping a close eye on you; I believe he discussed medication, which you will take without any fuss young man," she said, peering over her specs at him, "and he will be in and out frequently to keep an eye on you."

"Another recruit to Mary's Army," muttered Aaron, thinking only Jackson in his chair next to him could hear him.

"Aaron!"

Aaron jumped, surprised to be included in Mary's tirade.

"Aaron, you need to go back to work and stop tiptoeing round Jackson; you need to go back to being his boyfriend and not his carer. You've slipped into bad ways while he's been ill. Let Joe do what he's paid to do."

"The same applies to you Hazel, we've had this discussion before; you're his mum, keep that in mind. Now, is everybody clear how it's going to be? Hazel?"

"Yes Mary, but..."

"No buts Hazel; I don't do buts, you know that." She looked across at Hazel, tried to send her an unspoken message; you need to be strong with me, for him; firm, almost brutal, to drag him back again from the edge of the abyss where he was standing.

"Jackson? Did you want to say anything?"

"To terrified," said Jackson to his lap.

"Jackson!" snapped Mary.

"Sorry Mary," he said looking at her, looking her in the eye at last.

She knew then, knew that she had him again, had caught him in her safety net. Now all she had to do, all they all had to do, was keep him secure enough until he didn't need it any more.

...

Chris's voice penetrated his memories, brought him back to the present, the party. It seemed so long ago now; what a difference two years made. It hadn't been easy, recovering; working, living through his low mood, pushing away the people who loved him most; who wanted to help him the most. Despite him, they stayed, pig-headed enough to understand what he couldn't, at least until the mist, the fog of his depression, lifted.

"Ladies and gentlemen, are your glasses filled?" Chris asked the gathered company. "Then join me in raising them, to Jackson Walsh, Bachelor of Science, and pledge that you will join me here in four years time when we will be celebrating his qualification as an architect! Ladies and gentlemen, Jackson Walsh!"

Around the bar, his name echoed, the sound proud, cheerful, uplifting; Jackson felt a burning, embarrassed flush creeping across his face. Beside him, Aaron surprised him, bending, quickly kissing him firmly on his lips.

"And they're getting married!" Adam yelled excitedly, his voice ringing out, loudly ripping through the voices still chattering, easily heard.

Even as the noise level rose in response, Jackson answered.

"No! We're not!" he said loudly

Time stood still for a moment as a shocked silence filled the room, shock at the announcement; shock at his denial.

Jackson smiled up at Aaron. "We're having a Civil Partnership ceremony; I'm gonna have to put up with this moody grease monkey for the rest of my life," his smile turned into a broad grin, his eyes sparkling. "And I'm looking forward to that so much."

Around them, noise erupted, excited voices clamouring their congratulations; for a moment, in their excitement, they forgot that there were people they hadn't told beforehand, who perhaps should have been told. Forgot until they saw Chas and Hazel bearing down upon then; full of questions, looking for answers.

"So," drawled Chas, "When was all this decided?"

"And when were you going to tell us?" added Hazel.

"Just today," replied Aaron, shuffling from one foot to the other.

"And we hadn't planned on saying anything tonight; that was Adam," added Jackson.

"Who obviously knew before we did," said Hazel pointedly.

"He knew I was planning to ask Jackson; again," said Aaron. "So I told him; I didn't expect him to blurt it out tonight."

"So have you set a date yet? I hope we're getting an invite," said Chas. "I'm gonna wear a hat, a nice big one. What about you, Hazel?"

"Oh yes, a big hat for sure, with plenty of bling! And we'll have to discuss colours, Chas; we don't want to clash in the photos."

"That's true, Hazel. And would you like us to come shopping with you for your outfit's boys? I hear kilts are very popular?"

They glanced at each other, their eyes dancing now with suppressed mischief, with delight at the growing horror on the faces of their sons.

"Aw, come here," said Chas, pulling Aaron to her, hugging him. "I'm pleased for you both."

"Are you?" asked Aaron, struggling against her hug.

"Of course; and I'm very proud of you; of you both. You've proved so many of us wrong these last four years. But you," she nodded towards Jackson conspiratorially, "see when he's at his most irritating, you get to keep him then too, I'm afraid."

Jackson smiled. "I think I'll manage. Mum?" he questioned.

"Oh Jackson! I'll be crying from now until the wedding day," replied Hazel.

"Civil Partnership day," corrected Jackson automatically, but he smiled.

...

It was late before they could get away from the Woolie, get away from all the people who wanted to speak to them, the friends who wanted to congratulate Jackson; them both

Moonlight added to the brightness of the street lit night as they made their way back to Dale Head. Hazel had left for home before them; the house was in darkness save for the light above the front door, shining a welcome. Trundling up the ramp, Jackson pressed the remote to open the door; pressing it a second time switched the light on.

"D'you want anything before we go up?" asked Aaron. "Toast? Cereal?"

"No, I'm shattered, just some juice upstairs maybe?"

"Will do. You okay with me lifting you on to the stair lift? Can use the hoist if you'd rather."

"Yeah, just lift me," said Jackson, positioning his chair as close as he could to the stir lift

It didn't take long to get upstairs, get organised; they were well practised now, Aaron used to the weight, the feel of Jackson's body helpless in his arms as he moved him, as they slipped easily into their night time routine. Soon, in the darkness, Aaron lay on his side, cuddled into Jackson, making sure his fingers reached Jackson's shoulders, touched part of him that could feel him.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"What for?" asked Jackson.

"For today. For asking me; for saying yes at last" replied Aaron. "And for being a clever git with letters after your name now," he teased

Jackson turned his head towards Aaron. "When can we do it?" he asked.

"Thought you were tired?" said Aaron smuggly.

"I didn't mean that," smiled Jackson. "I am tired, well, tired-ish. I meant the civil ceremony."

"Dunno, soon as you want," replied Aaron. "If we do it soon, it will stop The Mothers making a big production of it. I mean, kilts, can you imagine it!"

"Speak for yourself!" protested Jackson, "I've got very nice legs; just because they don't work, doesn't stop them from being nice legs.

"I know you've got nice legs," said Aaron, "I spend enough time doing your exercises with you. And anyway! What was that with the grease monkey comment tonight?"

"Well you didn't want me to mention the baby oil in front of everybody, did you?" Jackson smirked.

In the dim light reflected through the curtains, Aaron could see Jackson smiling, could see his dark eyes full of love, of lust, of invitation, a reflection of what he knew was in his own.

Leaning closer, they kissed; it was late but they had all night.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Aaron couldn't remember when he had been so nervous. Not on the day he and Jackson had had their Civil Partnership Ceremony that's for sure; he had been excited then, full of delighted anticipation, unable still to really believe that Jackson had asked him, had said yes to him. Hard to think that was six years ago now.

This was a different kind of nervous, excited, yes, full of anticipation, but with an undercurrent of dread. He must be doing the worrying for both of them, he decided as he sat in the huge cathedral, looking at his watch for what must have been the twentieth time since they had taken their seats.

"Aaron!" hissed Hazel quietly. "Jackson'll be fine. Stop worrying and just enjoy it!"

"I just wish we could have stayed with him longer. And that we didn't have to sit down so early."

"His classmates will look after him; you sorted his gown, everything else; checked his computer. Everything is fine." She spoke deliberately, trying to reassure him, calm his nerves.

"But he's never done anything like this before," said Aaron.

"He's done a lot of things over the last few years that he hadn't done before," continued Hazel. "He'll be fine."

Aaron swivelled round in his seat, scanning the sea of faces filling the space behind them. He and Hazel were in the area set aside for the families of the graduates; somewhere in the crowd behind him filing the long nave and side chapels of the cathedral, he knew a large contingent from Stoddart & Chambers were gathered.

Aaron looked at his watch again; it was almost two, almost time for the service, the ceremony, to begin. He half stood, craning his neck to see if he could see Jackson, catch a glimpse of his wheelchair amongst the gathering graduates towards the back of the building. But he could see nothing.

Suddenly the sound of the organ coming majestically to life filled the building, silencing the buzz of conversation that had hummed through the gathered crowd, lacing its way between the warm sandstone pillars.

Filing across in front of the nave, impressively gowned figures swirled to their waiting seats, leaving only one standing at the lectern topped by a microphone, patiently waiting for the music to fade, for its echo to drift and die amongst the stone vaulting.

"Ladies, gentlemen and graduates..." the speech, the first of the afternoon, began.

Listening to it, Aaron felt his stomach begin to churn even more, if he felt like this, he wondered, what on earth must Jackson be feeling?

...

Clustered in one of the side chapels, graduates of the school of architecture were gathered, waiting their turn to be ushered to the front of the cathedral, to parade before the great and the good of the university. In their midst, Jackson waited, surrounded by his class mates; there were another two from Stoddart & Chambers, the remainder attached to architectural companies across the north, but all based with the same school of architecture at the university.

Little conversation rumbled between the graduates as they waited, the tension palpable as they listened to the start of the proceedings; the first speech; the first group of graduates taken from another part of the cathedral to make the long walk up through one of the side aisles, each name called as they reached the line of black-gowned academics before the retreat, presentation scroll clutched close, down the long nave before being herded into the large hall across the road, awaiting their fellow graduates, before being released to their proud families.

Suddenly it was their turn, the architects; by unspoken consent his classmates stood back, letting Jackson lead them out.

If he could feel his stomach, surely it would be churning now, he thought as he turned from the safety of the chapel dedicated to some long forgotten saint, turned into the aisle, appreciating for the first time, the size of the building, the number of bodies crammed expectantly into it. From his low eye level, he couldn't really see heads beyond those closest to him, couldn't pick out Aaron and Hazel, although he knew they were there; all he could see was shoulders into infinity.

Even if he couldn't feel his stomach, in his head he was nervous; anxiety jangling every thought, apprehension fuelling his imagination, a thousand things might go wrong; suddenly he felt about fifteen again.

It was a relief to reach the top of the aisle; the momentary wait until his name was called; the touch, the hand high on his shoulder where he could feel it, the reassurance from his tutor, again from the Principle of the School of Architecture as he stopped in front of the Dean of the University to receive his scroll, dropped neatly into the holder Aaron had attached to his chair earlier in the day.

If his head had been spinning with nerves before receiving his scroll, the moments after were worse; directed to the far side of the presentation area, he knew he still had a few minutes to wait as the last group of graduates collected their scrolls.

At last the waiting was over, the last hand shaken, the last scroll presented. Moving closer to the microphone, the Bishop, an older man in a clerical collar tapped it lightly; producing a gentle popping sound as he checked that is was working.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I am sure many of you are aware of the building work going on to the rear of this beautiful building to create community space and a much needed restaurant for our visitors; indeed I am sure that many of you have seen the plans and drawings of the stunning building that is growing before our eyes." He paused, letting his eyes roam over the large, attentive audience.

"When we chose the final design from amongst the tenders for our new building, we had no idea the submitted design was by a student; we had no idea that that student was a young man who, following an accident ten years ago that changed his life beyond recognition, had gone on to realise a childhood dream. Ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce you to Mr Jackson Walsh; graduate, our architect, and, I'm delighted to announce, the winner of this year's Maclennan Shield for outstanding achievement. One of the most visionary and inspirational men that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and working with. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Jackson Walsh!"

He dropped the height of the microphone then stood back, leading the outburst of clapping that suddenly erupted throughout the cathedral.

Standing close to Jackson, smiling down at him, the Bishop waited until the noise died away, waited until Jackson murmured that he was ready for his computer to be turned on. Pressing the key, clicking the folder open; the Bishop stood back, letting Jackson begin in his own time.

Jackson took a deep breath; this was it, the moment, dread and excitement battling within him, he glanced down at the computer screen although he knew by heart the first sentences he would see; the words waiting to scroll up the screen as he began speaking.

"Ladies, gentlemen and my fellow graduates," he began; the last speech of the afternoon.

...

Craning in his seat, Aaron struggled to see Jackson as he began speaking; leaning to his right, peering between the heads in front of him, he could see him; bits of him, until someone, anyone, in front moved again. He wanted to see him, but not catch his eye, distract him. Concentrating, watching; his lips moved silently in synch with Jackson; as familiar as Jackson with the speech, not needing the words in front of him, knowing from the time and times again they had practiced it together.

Apart from Jackson's voice, clearly reaching all parts of the majestic building, there was silence as the audience listened to every word.

As he listened, followed in his mind, Aaron felt his anxiety beginning to fade, felt his breathing begin to return to normal, his heart begin to pound less. Jackson was doing it, taking them with him, as he knew he would; Aaron allowed himself the tiniest of smiles, allowed the stirring of pride to swell within him.

...

Jackson gazed around as he spoke; he couldn't really see much of his audience, just the first few rows, but he could feel them, sense their warmth, their support. He began to relax, to enjoy himself; for once not minding being the centre of attention. He paused, smiled, as much to himself as to his audience, remembering another day when he, and Aaron, had been the centre of attention.

...

He opened his eyes; the bed, their bed, seemed huge, empty, without him. He couldn't remember the last night Aaron hadn't slept beside him, although it was probably when he had been in hospital. He hadn't slept particularly well, knowing that he wasn't close beside him if he needed him. Okay, his mother was just across the hall, within calling distance, but it wasn't the same; not at all the same.

If he could have stretched, he would have done; he stretched in his head and smiled, remembering the day it was going to be; the best day, the scariest day; Civilisation Day. Three months since Aaron had asked him; three months since he had asked Aaron, and now it was here. He looked at his suit hanging in front of the wardrobe door; the dark trousers and jacket, black shirt and rich burgundy tie, knowing its twin was hanging in Aaron's bedroom in Smithy. He smiled.

He could hear voices downstairs; it would be Joe, coming to get him ready. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, pausing outside his door before a sharp, impatient tap on the wood.

Not Joe then, Jackson knew his reserved knock; and not Aaron, he wouldn't have bothered knocking, besides, the plan was that they should next see each other at the Registry Office.

"S'okay, I'm decent," he called.

"I'm glad to hear it!" Cain slid his head round the door. "So. No last minute nerves then? Still going through with it."

"No and of course," smiled Jackson.

"He's terrified, y'know. Aaron." Cain came into the room, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "Worried he's gonna let you down." Cain stared at Jackson, one eyebrow raised in question

"He won't do that," replied Jackson confidently. "If it wasn't for him..." he let the sentence die on his lips.

"Yeah. Well," said Cain. "So long as you're sure. Both of you."

"I'm sure," replied Jackson. "And I think Aaron is too."

"Oh don't worry; I'm going to have this conversation with him as well before the morning is out," said Cain.

"I think Paddy already has," replied Jackson.

"Well it won't hurt him to hear it again; it's a big commitment – for both of you." Cain lay back on the bed, only leaving his booted feet hanging off the bed.

"I love him, Cain," whispered Jackson, looking across at the older man. "It's been over four years; I tried to push him away just after...show him how difficult it would be... you know I did. But he's stuck with me...all these years"

"Mmm," agreed Cain wordlessly. He let a silence grow between them.

Jackson waited, wondering what was coming; he usually got on well with Cain, surprisingly well, but there was always a sinister air of danger around him. And Dingle loyalty was a force to be reckoned with; if he thought he was somehow doing wrong by Aaron...

"Well if you're set on getting wed to lover boy, I'd better give you this then," said Cain, breaking the silence, breaking into Jackson's thoughts. He lifted a shiny gift bag from the side of the bed, tipping it, letting Jackson see inside it. "I didn't bother wrapping it," he said.

Jackson peered into the bag, he grinned. "Pull it out then, let me get a proper look," he said.

"I thought you might want to keep them at the Woolie," said Cain, pulling a silver tankard from the bag, holding it so that Jackson could see his and Aaron's names, and the date, engraved upon it. "There's one for Aaron too," he lifted a separate bag.

"Thanks Cain," said Jackson, admiring the gleaming tankard where Cain had laid it on his lap.

Cain shrugged, "you're welcome." He swung himself from the bed, pausing at the door. "See you at the Registry Office; you'll be a Dingle then."

"Livsey," replied Jackson, smiling. "And he'll be a Walsh."

"You're not really doing that double barrelled stuff, are you?" he questioned, peering back at Jackson.

"No," smiled Jackson, "just sticking with."

Cain nodded. "Later," he said before disappearing from Jackson's view.

...

Aaron paced the floor, backwards and forwards; what if he wasn't coming; what if he'd changed his mind, what if he was ill? What if...?

"Can you not stand still a minute," said Paddy.

Aaron glared at him. "He's late, there's something wrong; everyone else is here."

"He's not late," laughed Paddy, "you're early for once in your life. And everyone else isn't here yet," he added, opening the door a little, glancing into the room where the ceremony itself would take place, scanning the people already gathered there.

Aaron ran his hand over his short hair, then pushed Paddy aside to look himself. Looking into the room, he hadn't realised they had invited so many people. A sea of Dingles filled half the seats, other faces from Emmerdale were there; many of Jackson's friends from Stoddart & Chambers; he could see Mary Coggins, leaning forward, talking to Lisa in the seat in front of her. There were still empty seats in the front row; places kept for Hazel and Jerry. He could see Josh, sitting with Rhona, excitedly bouncing up and down with her and Paddy's youngster.

But still no Jackson. He felt sick, physically sick. The toast Chas had insisted he eat earlier that morning, felt leaden in his stomach, threatening to return. Pacing again, he could swear he felt every nerve in his body jangling with unease.

"Hey."

He hadn't heard the quiet click of the door opening. He spun round; at last!

"Hey yourself," he said as quietly, suddenly shy.

Jackson moved further into the room, passing the Registrar, holding the door for him, his eyes only for Aaron.

"You look good," smiled Jackson, his eyes flicking over the well fitting dark suit.

"So do you," replied Aaron, his relief clear to read in his eyes, clear at least for Jackson to read.

"Not panicking were you," Jackson smiled up at him.

"No!" replied Aaron sharply. "Well, just a bit," he agreed, returning Jackson's smile.

"There's still ten minutes to go," said Jackson, shaking his head.

"I know...it's just..." muttered Aaron, apologetically.

"Silly sod," said Jackson, his eyes sparkling up at him.

Aaron moved closer to the chair, quickly kissing Jackson.

"Ok you two, none of that till after the service!" Russ laughed, coming up beside them. "Y'okay Aaron? Where's Adam?" he asked.

"I'm fine," said Aaron.

"Fibber," smirked Jackson, interrupting him, "he's panicking already."

"Ah, there's nothing to it mate," reassured Russ. "These registry office do's; you hardly get time to catch your breath when it's all done and dusted; married! Or in your case, civilised!"

Aaron smiled, not wanting to reveal that it wasn't the short service that was preying on his mind; now he was fine; his nerves disappeared, now that Jackson was here, at his side.

"I think they're ready for you to go in," said Paddy appearing at their side. "Have you got the rings safe?"

"Course!" scowled Aaron. "Adam's got mine and Russ has got Jackson's, hasn't he?" he added, looking between Jackson and Russ.

""Yes!" exclaimed Jackson, moving his chair towards the door, slowing as the Registrar put her arm out to stop them.

"We'll just let everyone else take their seats," she said, nodding Russ and Paddy forward, "then I'll lead you up to the front. There is a seat for Aaron already there, just stop your chair next to it, Jackson."

For a second or two, as her attention was on the last folk taking their seats, there was just Aaron, just Jackson. They caught each other's eyes, exchanged glances, knowing without words that they both felt the significance of the moment, the last few moments before they were legally recognised as a couple, as partners for life.

Following the Registrar between the chairs to the front of the room, the faces either side of him were a blur to Aaron. As he got to the front, slid into the chair as directed, he became aware of Chas sitting close by, he even noticed her lip quivering, just a little, as already she was dabbing at her eyes. On one side of him, Adam, ready to be a witness, whispered a hurried greeting; beyond Jackson, Russ, their second witness, turned in his seat, watching them. Beside him, Jackson smiled; there might have been no one else in the room.

He tried to listen to the Registrar's words of welcome, of explanation of the legal significance of the service. Then suddenly came the vows; stating his name, the repetition of the words of legal partnership; his part was done, he felt as though the world stopped turning, as though the breath in his body was held in thrall, as he listened to Jackson speaking. Then the Registrar was inviting them to exchange rings; suddenly Adam and Russ were standing beside them; Adam offering the small, open box to Aaron. Taking the ring in his fingers, he knelt; then gently lifting Jackson's left hand, he slid the ring onto his third finger, his eyes holding Jackson's as he did so. Not moving, he waited as Russ held the second ring for Jackson to take between his lips, then moving his hand, his finger, close enough for Jackson to bend forward, gently drop the ring onto his finger, push it lower with his lips, with his teeth.

For a second longer than it took to set the ring as low as he comfortably could, Jackson kept Aaron's finger in his mouth, quickly sucking the tip, the dark pools of his eyes meeting Aaron's blue ones in gentle, private, intimacy.

Then the last act; papers in front of them to sign, putting their names to the legal document, The Register, and it would be over. Aaron took the proffered pen first and hastily scrawled his name, then reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew the mouth guide Jackson used when he need to write. Sliding it onto the pen, he placed the papers against a board the Registrar handed him and held them at the perfect angle for Jackson to carefully write his name. Finally Adam and Russ signed, witnesses to the partnership.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the formal part of the Civil Partnership..."

Even before she finished speaking a burst of spontaneous clapping filled the room, backed by a rumble of voices calling their congratulations.

"Ooh Jackson!" Rushing from her seat beyond Russ, Hazel embraced Jackson, touching his face even as she impatiently brushed the tears from her own. "That was lovely!" she gushed, standing back from him at last.

"Mum! Please!" Jackson exclaimed, turning his head to hide the embarrassed flush of pleasure that coloured his face.

"Oh you come here too!" continued Hazel, making a bee-line for Aaron, catching him off guard, hugging him to her.

Allowing himself to be hugged, hugging back, Aaron grinned over her shoulder to Jackson, to what he could see of him, surrounded by their friends, their families, sharing their joy.

Hardly had he escaped from Hazel, when Chas was upon him, pulling her into her arms.

"I'm so proud of you, son," she whispered as she held him close. "I know you'll always do your best for him, love."

"As he will for me, mum," he said quietly, returning her hug. "We're together, properly and forever; don't ever think I'm with him out of pity. Or guilt."

She broke the hug, holding him away from her. "I know love, but I'm your mum and I'll always worry about you, however grown-up and sensible you become." She smiled at him.

"Come on; the Registrar is getting twitchy," said Aaron. "We need to go outside for photos, and I need to give Jackson his present – where's Cain? And then get everyone back to Emmerdale to party!"

Leaving Chas, he moved away from the crowd still surrounding Jackson, and looked for Cain. It took him a few moments to find him, lounging in the corridor outside.

"Have you got them? Where is it?" Aaron said quickly.

Cain threw something at Aaron. "There you go, and it's out the front. You've not been on the bevies already have you?"

"Course not," growled Aaron, scowling briefly.

"Right. I'll see you back in the Woolie," said Cain, beginning to walk away.

"Are you not coming for the photos?" questioned Aaron quickly.

"I don't do photos," said Cain, sounding firm.

"But Jackson would like you to be in them," Aaron paused. "I'd like you to be in them," he muttered.

Cain glared at him.

Aaron smiled, he turned back towards the main doors; people were spilling out now, he needed to get back to Jackson, but he knew Cain was following him, had agreed to be in the photographs.

It took a while, the seemingly endless combination of arrangements, of people who had to be included, who wanted to be included. Cameras whirred, exposure after exposure, capturing the radiant smiles of two people who really only had eyes for each other.

At last everyone was satisfied. At last they could move towards the front of the building. Aaron knew what was waiting for them; he just hoped Jackson would be pleased. He had had the idea months before; had talked it over with Cain, with Russ and with John from Yorkshire Motorbility. They had all helped, were all part of it; he couldn't have done it without them.

"Where's the pope-mobile?" Jackson asked Aaron as they went down the ramp at the side of the building.

"Gone back to Yorkshire Motorbility," said Aaron briefly.

"What!" exclaimed Jackson. "John didn't say anything. Where is he?" he looked around, trying to spot him in the crowd gathering behind them. "Why today?" he added; an edge of disbelief, almost of panic, beginning to sound in his voice.

"Because we've got this one," grinned Aaron, nodding towards the car parked in front of them, unable to keep the glee from his voice as he waved the keys delightedly.

"A 4 by 4?" questioned Jackson.

"Yep, a big, shiny 4 by 4," agreed Aaron.

"But how can I get in the back with my wheelchair?" questioned Jackson.

"You don't," replied Aaron. "Come with me."

He led Jackson round to the passenger side of the car, clicking the keys, he unlocked the car, opened the door.

"Modified hinge; allows the door to open wider than normal," he said.

As Aaron pulled the door open, Jackson could see a space where the front seat should be.

"But how..." he began.

"Just a minute," Aaron interrupted him, leaning into the car, pressing something. "There's an integrated ramp with a lift mechanism, it needs a bit more yet to get it perfect, but it works. Watch."

Even as he spoke, Jackson saw a small ramp revealing itself; emerging from its hiding place somewhere underneath the car.

"Okay," said Jackson slowly, not wanting to dash Aaron's pleasure, but still unable to see how he could possibly get his chair into the car.

"There's a turntable in the floor," continued Aaron, "that turns your chair to face forwards, and there are locks to secure the chair." He paused, "so, have I forgotten anything?"

"Did you do all this?" asked Jackson slowly, wonderingly.

"With a lot of help from Cain, Russ and John," admitted Aaron, waving his hand, wanting Jackson to get into the car.

"I can't believe the chair will fit," said Jackson, hesitating.

"Oh it fits alright," said Cain laconically, appearing beside Aaron.

"But how do you know," questioned Jackson, unable to believe that it could be possible; that he could sit in the front of the 4 by 4, next to Aaron, and not have to sit in the back of a glorified invalid carriage.

"We just know it will," said Aaron, his face flushing red.

"He stole your chair a few times," Cain nodded towards Aaron, not sparing his blushes. "Nights when you'd gone to bed early; taking measurements first, then practicing getting it in and out. I'm surprised you didn't notice it; it's been at the garage for weeks. You'll manage it fine, believe me."

"So are you gonna try it now or are we gonna talk about it all evening," said Aaron his patience at an end.

Saying nothing, Jackson turned his chair, aligning it with the ramp. Slowly, so slowly, he eased it upwards, pausing as Aaron ran round to the driver's side, enabling him to call instructions as Jackson entered the car, reached the integrated turntable. Leaning over, moving the chair, locking it in position, Aaron grinned at Jackson as Cain slammed Jackson's door shut.

"So?" he said. "What d'you think? It's not perfect yet, but it's better, isn't it?" He looked at Jackson, waiting, hoping for his approval, for him to be as excited about it as he was.

Jackson looked about him, as much as he could, trying to see how Aaron had made it work, got the chair – with him in it – to fit into the 4 by 4. He couldn't turn far enough to see into the back of the car; he gave up trying. What did it matter; he was sitting beside Aaron, he felt safe; he felt wonderful. He smiled.

"Happy Civilisation Day," said Aaron.

...

There were more pictures when they arrived at the Woolie, the outside of the pub transformed by the addition of a large canopy covering the outside seating area at the front of the building. Inside, tables had been moved to one side and were groaning under the weight of the buffet laid upon them.

Greeting them as they entered the pub, glasses of champagne were pressed in to their hands. Well prepared, Diane had a black cocktail straw already bobbing in one glass that she quickly fastened in the holder on Jackson's chair. Turning, as she saw everyone had a glass in their hands, she waved, indicating she wanted the music turned down, then rang the bell for the first toast of the rest of the day. "To Jackson and Aaron!" she called above the dying noise of conversation, smiling as it echoed back at her, "Jackson and Aaron!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," she called into the following lull, "Jackson and Aaron have asked me to remind you that they don't want any formalities this evening, so; the buffet is open, eat, drink and most of all, be merry!"

"D'you want anything to eat yet?" Aaron asked Jackson.

"Not yet," replied Jackson. "But I'll have another glass of this stuff, please."

"Not a beer?"

"Nope, I'm sticking with the bubbly for now," said Jackson cheerfully.

"Camp git!" Aaron grinned at him.

"Least I'm not gonna fall over on the way home," smirked Jackson.

"Old joke, Walsh!" Aaron said, standing to head to the bar. "Besides, I don't intend getting bladdered tonight."

"Ooh, on a promise, am I?" Jackson dark eyes sparked with mischief.

"What do you think?" Aaron raised his eyebrows briefly, suggestively. He disappeared from Jackson's sight, moving between the many people crammed into the bar.

"Jackson! What a wonderful day!" Mary Coggins hugged him.

"Mary! Thanks for coming!" Jackson exclaimed with pleasure.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Mary said, perching on the seat Aaron had recently vacated. "What did you think of the 4 by 4?"

"Ah," said Jackson, "so you knew about it too did you?"

Mary peered at Jackson over the top of her specs, her expression quizzical. "Of course I did Jackson. You should know by now, I know everything that my boys get up to!"

"You are such a witch, Mary!" laughed Jackson.

"I am!" agreed Mary cheerfully. "Which is just as well for you!"

"Hey Mary! Champagne?" Aaron returned with an extra glass; he had seen Mary talking to Jackson and now pressed a glass into her hand.

"Aaron!" she stood, hugged him. "Congratulations, both of you!"

They talked for a while before Mary stopped to speak to Hazel, leaving them to move between their other guests, their family, friends, everyone wanting to see them, congratulate them.

It was dusk before they decided to have something to eat; Aaron gathered a plate of food and followed Jackson outside. Under the large canopy, patio heaters were keeping the evening chill away. Aaron perched on one of the tables; Jackson parked next to him as they shared the food, eating as they usually did from the one plate.

"You okay?" asked Jackson between mouthfuls. "It's not that exciting for you as far as receptions go."

"Me and outdated disco dancing," grinned Aaron, "dream on!"

"Oh shatter my fantasies, why don't ya," laughed Jackson. "Seriously though, we could have had a band or something."

"We could have done," agreed Aaron, "but this is fine for me; relaxed, informal, just doing what we want." He looked down, reached out his left hand, with one finger absently began rubbing the shining gold band now on Jackson's finger. "I didn't think I could ever be as happy as I am today," he whispered quietly, almost shyly.

"Me neither," replied Jackson. He looked down, looking at their hands so close together, wishing he could just lift his hand, hold Aaron's; but there was no point in wishing for something he couldn't do when there was so much he could. "What are you doing?" he asked as Aaron drew his phone from his pocket and began scrolling through the menu.

"Gonna take a picture," he said, "of our hands together, our left hands, the rings." For a moment his eyes held the dark, chocolate pools of Jackson's eyes, then peering at the screen, he moved his hand close to Jackson's, changed position a couple of times then clicked, clicked again.

"Look," he said, turning the phone so that Jackson could see the screen. "Looks good doesn't it?"

Before Jackson could answer, Paddy spoke behind them. "Come on you two, you're wanted inside."

"Why?" demanded Aaron. "What for?"

"Could you not just do what you're told for once, and not ask questions," blustered Paddy.

"Yes Paddy," said Jackson, pretending submission, his face anything but submissive.

"And don't you encourage him," said Paddy, answering his tone not his words.

Jackson grinned at Aaron as they followed Paddy back into the Woolie.

Cheering erupted as they entered the bar, every face turned to the door, watching them, watching their sudden awkward embarrassment.

"Over here!" called Marlon, his long, gangling arms waving a huge knife out of harm's way above his head. "Time to cut the cake!"

"What cake?" exclaimed Aaron.

"This cake!" cried Marlon, moving to reveal a two tier cake, not white, but covered in a rich brown chocolate icing. On top, in place of the traditional bride and groom were two male characters, one of them seated in a wheelchair.

"Hey! This is brilliant!" exclaimed Aaron. "Did you make this Marlon?" he asked.

"Well yes...and no," said Marlon. "I made the cake and..." he paused, "...bought the figures." He spoke almost as though he was dragging the words from his mouth, hating to admit that the figures were not his work. "That's you in the wheelchair," he added unnecessarily to Jackson.

"No!" exclaimed Jackson, watching Marlon trying to decide if his incredulity was feigned or not. "It's magic, Marlon, thanks," he added more quietly. "So, get the knife then Aaron, get it cut!"

Cutting the cake; more pictures, more congratulatory greetings; there seemed no end to the friends who wanted to speak to them, spend time with them, be part of their day.

It was late; Jackson couldn't even have guessed the time when finally he whispered to Aaron that he was tired; shattered; had really come to the end of this extraordinary day. After quietly making their way between the remaining guests, perhaps intent on partying all night, after saying their goodnights, they made their way the short distance from the Woolpack to Dale Head.

As he trundled up the ramp, Jackson pressed the remote on his headrest, opening the front door for them. He couldn't miss seeing them as he moved into the room; they were there, hardly huge, but dominating the room.

"Someone going somewhere?" questioned Jackson, nodding towards the bags.

"We are. Tomorrow," said Aaron, explaining nothing more as he pulled his suit jacket off, flung it on a chair.

"So…" drawled Jackson, waiting. "Are you gonna tell me any more?"

"We're going away tomorrow; for a week. Call it a honeymoon if you want."

"But where?" persisted Jackson. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you, you idiot," said Aaron in mock exasperation. "I didn't think Hazel would just leave the bags there." He wasn't going to say any more, but looking at Jackson's face, he knew he wasn't going to leave it; he wanted all the details.

"Can I tell you when we get to bed?" Aaron asked hopefully.

"Nope!" replied Jackson. "You can make me a coffee and spill the details!"

In the kitchen, as he filled the kettle, switched it on, made two mugs of coffee, Aaron revealed his plans.

"We're going to Cornwall, an apartment in Falmouth; overlooking the harbour. It's well adapted; I had a long chat with the owner, it's got everything we need; it'll be great." He pushed Jackson's mug into his holder as he spoke.

"So can I see a picture?" asked Jackson, sipping the hot coffee.

"No, you can wait till tomorrow and get a surprise," grinned Aaron.

"Bitch!" said Jackson, smiling back at him.

"Only in bed, sweetheart," smirked Aaron. "Talking of which…" his blue eyes sparkled, "you ready to go up?"

"PJs, tee, or bare naked?" Aaron asked Jackson a few minutes later, as he lay him gently on their bed.

"What do you think?" said Jackson, looking pointedly at Aaron, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "This is our Civilisation Night; you don't think I'm gonna let you go to sleep just yet, do you?"

"I hope not," said Aaron, beginning to ease Jackson's clothes from him, hanging the suit up, but letting his shirt, his underwear drop in a heap on the floor.

Making sure the safety side was in place; he quickly undressed himself, switching the light off before sliding under the covers beside Jackson.

The room was dark; hardly any light came through the curtains from the streetlights outside. Aaron lay half on his stomach, as close to Jackson as he could, his arm across his chest, his fingers running through the soft hair at his chin.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"What for?" Jackson's voice was low, dreamy in the darkness.

"For today," replied Aaron. "And for tomorrow…every tomorrow."

"Forget tomorrow for the moment," whispered Jackson, "just think of now. Of lying beside me. My hand is reaching out, touching you, my finger tips are running down your back...caressing your arse...teasing you...making you wait...knowing you already want me."

Aaron groaned, then turned to kiss his lover.

…...

Jackson finished speaking; gazing around him as once again applause filled the building, swelling high up into the vaulted stone roof. Looking over the sea of faces, suddenly he spotted Aaron, almost bouncing up and down in his seat as he joined in the applause, his face split in the widest smile of delight.

He caught his eye, smiled. He had done it; graduated; he was finally an architect; had realised his childhood dream. Looking back, so much had changed; he could hardly remember what his life was like before his accident, when he could move. He could remember the black days though; the days when he thought that it wasn't worth going on; that life wasn't worth living anymore. Every day he thanked...whoever...whatever deity was watching over him, for the people who had come into his life to rescue him, show him he still had a life, give it back to him; who had saved him. Looking round, drinking in the applause that seemed never ending he knew that if he had listened to the black days he would have missed so much.

He felt a hand on his shoulder; the Bishop was smiling down at him, between looking around at the appreciative audience.

Then the Dean of the University was speaking again; Jackson hardly listened, his eyes fixed on Aaron, now that he had found him in the crowd he didn't want to lose sight of him. Soon the ceremony would be over, soon they could escape; to the Graduation Reception across the road, then to the Woolpack; to Emmerdale and the party he knew would stretch on into the small hours. To Monday, and back to Stoddart & Chambers, to the folders of work saved on his computer, waiting for him. He smiled across the heads at Aaron, the only face in the crowd.

Life was good.


End file.
